


In Memoriam

by Acantha_Echo



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, Drowning, Gen, His is trying his best you guys, Memory Loss, Morally Neutral Deceit Sanders, Near Death, Self Loathing, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Verbal Fighting, Virgil is best boy, does borrow characters from the world of narnia, fantasy fighting, narnia inspired, not a narnia au, self doubt, threatening behaviour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2020-10-04 07:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 109,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acantha_Echo/pseuds/Acantha_Echo
Summary: The metal tree had always fascinated the Prince.Only, it wasn’t a tree.And, as it turned out, he wasn’t really a Prince. Instead he was… a side of someone’s personality? He doesn’t remember Thomas, or the other sides, those who call themselves his friends. He doesn’t really remember anything, not even his own name, no matter the efforts of Patton, Logan or Virgil. He must venture back into the Wardrobe door, back to the metal tree in an attempt to recover his missing memories and regain everything he has lost.But perhaps some doors are best left closed for a reason. And perhaps some personas should remain in the ground where they have been buried.





	1. The Metal Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my entry for this years TS-Storytime Big Bang! This story is going to be updated on A03 every Sat and has 20 chapters total. So strap in for some platonic goodness and angst! The majority of this story was written before the introduction of Remus which is why, for the sake of this story, it is as though he doesn't exist. 
> 
> I had a blast writing this and putting my own spin on the memory loss trope. 
> 
> This is a Narnia inspired story, that borrows various elements of the world and the characters from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. It is **NOT** a Narnia AU. References and quotes from the book are, of course, all by C.S. Lewis.
> 
> This story was beta-ed by the ever wonderful @i-will-physically-fight-you // Listenerofshadows, who also ended up being my artist for this project. (Links to be added) There is no way this story would be even a fraction as good as it is without her aid and very helpful comments in not only beta-ing the chapters as they finished, but also helping me plot and work through problem areas of the story.

** **

### The Metal Tree

** **

The metal tree had always fascinated the Prince.

It stood in a small clearing of its own, ringed by wooden trees as far as the eye could see. He couldn’t remember how long it had been there - it felt as though it had always been in the woods, or at least that he had always been aware of its presence. The metal tree was unlike anything he had ever known, black and tall, without any branches but just a rectangular growth at its tip. It wasn’t just the fact that it was metal when all the other trees were wood that made it stand out however. It was the way it burned at its tip, every night flooding the area with its warm light, a beacon of safety in an otherwise dangerous world. Even in the daytime it glowed, light bouncing off the snow, reflecting back against the crisp white that fell forever in the forest, a perpetual winter gripping the land.

Despite all of that, this wasn’t where he was supposed to be. 

He had a quest. He _knew_ he had a quest, something he was meant to be doing, something very important, given to him by... by... well, the Prince couldn’t quite remember who had given him the quest or indeed what exactly it was but he knew that it was very important. He knew he should be focused on that, or at least on working out what that was.

Instead, he felt irresistibly drawn to the metal tree, so much so that he had taken a break from his questing to visit it. Was it the first time he had been here?

Surely he had come here before. The Prince knew the metal tree. He had known where to go, how to find it and had rode through the woods with the confidence of someone who had been here many times before. The image of the tree was clear in his mind long before he actually reached the clearing, the obsidian black of the tree in such stark contrast to the white that would stretch as far as the eye could see. But try as he might, he couldn’t actually remember visiting it. He couldn’t put the image of the metal tree in any sort of context, couldn’t recall if he had come here when he was younger or he had brought friends here in more recent years. 

Something niggled at the back of his mind at that, something whispering doubts, issues with his train of thought. Something was... wrong when he tried to reach backwards, to grasp the memories of a moment before this, before riding through persistently falling snow, the flakes gradually coating his hair and clothing. Something was wrong but the moment slipped from his fingers when he tried to focus on it, melting away like snow by a fire.

Ah, he was sure it didn’t matter. And if it did, then he would remember whatever it was soon enough. 

None of it mattered because he had finally reached the clearing, the trees dropping away to show him the black one. As beautiful and as alien as he had suspected. Remembered? Dreamed? Knew? Whatever. It was here, shining its strange light throughout the clearing, drawing him closer and closer. He ached to touch it, to uncover all its mysterious and answer questions that hadn’t even finished forming in his mind. The Prince still wasn’t sure what had brought him here, but he had learnt to trust his instincts by now, gracefully dismounting his horse, Bree. 

Hand lifted, patting Bree’s neck gently, absently murmuring words of comfort as he led his noble steed to one of the trees circling it, hitching him around the trunk. They worked as a team and a very good one at that, but something inside of him told him that this was a quest that had to be done solo, no matter how much Bree snorted in disagreement, tugging against the reigns, his head whipping this way and that. Something about the scene had gotten his old friend worked up, no matter how hard the Prince attempted to calm him. Something made the horse pull and kick, struggling against the snow and very clearly wanting to go back the way they had come.

No matter. As much as he loved Bree, as much as he cared, he couldn’t just turn tail and leave. Not now he was so close, that strange compulsion bidding him to keep going, to explore all around the metal tree and beyond. Bree couldn’t help him here. He had to do this alone. 

With a final few words of reassurance, the Prince stepped away from his horse, ignoring the whinny of protest, eyes fixed on the metal tree. Snow crunched sharply underfoot, packed tightly about the tree as though many things had passed by since it had first fallen. Any footprints left behind had long since been covered by fresh layers of snow which had then been trampled down and covered by yet more flakes. Even a master tracker such as the Prince couldn’t gleam any hints from the snow as to what had moved through here recently but the sound alone told him that many things had. 

The tree stood proud, tall and untouched by the snow and he would have thought that it would have been covered by now. All the trees in the forest were positively groaning under the weight of snow that had settled on every available surface and while it lacked branches, it still had a top that should be a brilliant white instead of a stark, uncompromising black. He hummed softly, reaching out to brush his hand against the strangely wrought trunk, the tree looking for all the world as if it had been carved instead of growing this way. 

It felt... warm to the touch, the Prince realising that any snow that did land on it would simply melt away at the gentle heat that warmed his skin. Now that he stood there, hand against the tree, he wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do next. There was still his quest to get back to, whatever it actually was but there was also the mystery of why he had felt the need to come here in the first place. 

Another light caught his attention, the Prince frowning a little as he peered past the black pole. There, just beyond the tree line, flickered more light. The same type as light as the metal tree gave out, but whereas the light from that had been a beacon to all, this light felt more like... a gateway. An entrance, light spilling out of a crack in the middle of thin air, two lines of gold that ran at right angles before joining up together at the corner.

Now that he was closer, the Prince could make out strange noises drifting out from the light as though it was capable of creating sound as well as light and no matter how impossible it actually was, he couldn’t shake the reality of what he was hearing. There was music coming out of it but nothing like he had ever heard before. Strange notes and voices blending together to create something that was not altogether unpleasant. It felt... as though some part of him had heard the sounds before despite knowing for a fact that he could never have heard anything so alien. His memories might have felt loose but the Prince knew that this was a new experience. 

And yet somehow also old.

He felt mesmerized by it, the noise calling to him far more strongly than even the metal tree had done, the Prince leaving it and his horse behind as he ducked into the wood, heading closer and closer to the light that only seemed to burn all the brighter the closer he got to it until it felt as though he could almost touch.

Barely breathing, the Prince took another step forward, hand outstretched, reaching for the source of the light and feeling that finally he had found whatever it was he had been looking for. 

\---

Virgil understood that Thomas was obsessed. He kind of had to be, considering what had started out as a small role playing the adult King Edmund in a local kids theater production of _The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe_ had rapidly spiralled into helping at every level of the production. He has somehow been roped into taking on director duty for most of the play and Thomas never did anything by halves. If he was involved, he was _involved._

Virgil got all that. He did. It was a nice thing to be obsessed about - even if he couldn't help but spike into action almost every time they got to work on the project. It was such a well known piece of work, it was one of the most famous children's stories in the world and almost everyone was at least aware of it. Which meant that the pressure was all the more acute because of it and the possibilities for failure was that much greater. No matter how hard he tried to tone it down so that Thomas could concentrate and just be inspired, excited by the work, a little of that fear would seep out. Although, he was enjoying what Thomas was slowly bringing to life and although he would never admit it, Virgil was a fan of the series as a whole and it was a joy to have that magic influencing so much of their lives at the moment. 

But did they really need a life sized copy of the Wardrobe sat slap dab in the middle of the living room? Worst, did Roman _really_ need to use it to create a portal to the Imagination? Technically, any of them could enter it wherever and whenever they pleased. Portals of their own were unstable things however and no matter how hard you tried to focus, you could never be completely sure that you would enter at the place that you wanted to be. Normally a stay, passing thought would catch you off guard and you might find yourself miles from where you actually wanted to be. 

Virgil had spent more time than he cared to think about, trudging through the rapidly changing scenery of Thomas’ Imagination, trying to find his way back to the small, dark corner of it that he had claimed as his own. 

The only guaranteed way in was through Roman’s room, the doorway there leading without fail to the throne room of Roman’s castle and that was the creative trait all over, to make sure everyone had to see his ostentatious interior dress sense. The two of them might have gotten closer recently, each making an effort to try and see the others point of view but there were still things that felt so alien and confusing to the anxious side and Roman’s love for the spotlight was one of them.

The thought of having so many eyes on you, it made Virgil’s skin crawl. In the same way that the thought of having his inner sanctum so readily accessible for any other Side to enter made him want to throw up. How could Roman stand it? He had been trying to convince Roman for a while now that they should make a second entrance, somewhere a little less personal but still useful. Roman had finally taken his advice, but not as he had really wished it. 

Because now there was a second door at last, always leading to the large expanse of the Imagination that had turned itself into a faithful recreation of Narnia. Which meant snow and cold wilderness as far as the eye could see instead of leading anywhere useful. Virgil supposed he was just lucky that the house had escaped Roman’s fanciful thoughts for the most part, and bar the odd decoration - and the near life sized stuffed lion toy lurking near the stairs - it looked pretty much as it had always done. 

He couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of guilt at having turned down Roman’s offer to join him in the Imagination. Roman had wanted to play in the world that Thomas had created, to have a go at being Kings in _Narnia_. The other side had been so excited at the prospect, almost bouncing around the room as he had spun his grandiose ideas into the air like fine gossamer thread, seeking to entangle the anxious side in the ridiculous schemes he was cooking up.

Roman had wanted Virgil to come with him. He had wanted him to take actual part and that was new too. It was a far cry from how Roman’s trips to the Imagination had used to go down when if he was lucky the regal side would simply ignore his existence completely. 

Virgil tried not to think about the times when he was unlucky, when Roman had actually knocked on his door and made threats, how he had pointed out that he was going on an adventure and that Anxiety had better not try and use that as an excuse to commit any villainous acts because he would return and would defeat him. He tried not to think about the sneer in Roman’s voice, the sheer conviction that Anxiety was nothing more than a ruffian who would welcome the chance to try and hurt the others.

That was in the past. So what if he had never been the bad guy. So what if Virgil would have rather died than see any harm come to the others. So what if he had tried to die, to free them all from what even he had come to believe was his malicious influence. 

Things were better now. Different. They were better, different. _Virgil_ was... different, if not better. 

To be included was all Virgil had ever really wanted, a chance to be friends with the other sides. This was his family, for better and for worse. He loved them all so very much and although it had hurt to make the choices he had made in the past, he didn’t regret any of them. Not at his worst and certainly not now, when there was a peace of sorts between them all. So really, he should have jumped at the chance to adventure with Roman rather than turn him down and risk ruining their newly found balance.

And yet, turn him down, Virgil had.

He couldn’t help it, his shoulders hunching up more and more as time went on as Roman just kept talking, bragging about all the wonderful things they could apparently do. He hadn’t seemed to notice - or maybe, a voice hissed, he just didn’t care - that Virgil was growing more uncomfortable and unhappy as time went on. All Roman seemed to be focused on was that the two of them would be the rulers, would be Sons of Adam in _Narnia_. Roman would be Peter and Virgil could be Edmund. As though those words hadn’t sent a whole load of ice cubes down Virgil’s spine, making him shudder and turn away, breath catching sharply in his throat. His heart was pounding, a frantic beat in his chest that echoed in his head, making it hard to focus on what Roman was actually saying.

The odd few words that did sink in, did not make him feel better. Roman was talking of throne rooms, of holding court, of people coming to them for aid and deciding which quests they should take on. 

That sounded like Virgil’s idea of _hell_ in all honesty. To be a King? To have everyone’s eyes on you at all times, to have to make all the importance choices? The ones where other people were all depending on you, when what you decided could end up being a life or death decision. The people in the Imagination might not be real in the sense that Thomas was real or even real in the semi sense the Sides were, they might not be sentient beings as such, but he still couldn’t bear the idea of their deaths being on his shoulders.

Not to mention Edmund wasn’t exactly Virgil’s favourite character despite the fact that Thomas was playing the adult him. Edmund was a little too close to the bone for comfort for the anxious side. Edmund who had turned against his family, who had been the ‘bad guy’ and had betrayed everyone. His actions had gotten Aslan killed and while that had been the Lion’s plan in a way, it still didn’t change the fact that Edmund had been a traitor to everyone, including his family. He had been a thoroughly nasty piece of work as far as some people were concerned. It was all a little too on the nose. 

It all made him worry that Roman saw him as someone like that, as still a bad guy and no matter how much he tried to tell himself that he was overthinking it, that he was being silly, he couldn’t shake the notion that Roman had been trying to tell him something by insisting he, like Thomas, play Edmund.

Virgil couldn’t be Edmund. He couldn’t be a King and he couldn’t be a bad guy, not again. Not even if he had upset Roman by refusing, the regal side eventually giving a huff and storming off through the Wardrobe on his own, leaving Virgil half curled up on the couch. 

Patton and Logan were both busy with Thomas in the real world which meant that for the time being, Virgil was alone in the mindscape. Or, as alone as he could be when there were still the other elements of Thomas’ mind lurking about - but no, Virgil wasn’t going to think about them, about him, not today. He had made his choices, made his bed and he would lie in it. With only a small amount of stewing in his own thoughts. Right now, the important thing was that Virgil had been left alone in peace. 

If he wanted to, he could retreat to his room and be completely alone. 

Or, if he wanted to, he could sink down into the real world and find Thomas and the others. He could join in on the work they were doing. Well, the work Logan was doing while Patton helped in his own way. If he wanted to, he could probably even go into the Imagination and track down Roman but neither of those choices appealed to him. Virgil wasn’t ready for company, not after the semi-not-quite-an-argument, argument he had had with Roman, but neither did he want to be alone and feel the solitaire pressing down on his bones, with his own guilt chasing him endlessly. 

Remaining in the living room seemed a good compromise, his music blaring gently out of the speaker on his phone. It filled the room and let Virgil feel a little more connected, grounded in the moment. He just hoped Thomas didn’t mind the fact that he would have various emo music playing in a loop in his head, odd snatches of lyrics slipping into his thoughts. 

Even now and then, Virgil’s eyes would lift to the Wardrobe, scowling at it as though it was personally responsible for its existence, for how he had disagreed with Roman or for the simple fact that he was starting to get worried about the creative side. Roman had been gone for... a very long time now. Long enough for Virgil to start to think that something might have happened, long enough for him to worry that something had gone wrong. Roman had left early in the morning, right after breakfast, right after the not fight and now it was starting to slip into late afternoon. It wouldn’t be long now before Patton returned in order to start making dinner and Roman had promised he would be back before then, because it was the weekly Family Night.

Which meant they were all going to making their own pizzas, and knowing them, getting a lot of the toppings all over each other, the work surface and anywhere that wasn’t actually the pizzas themselves. Roman couldn’t do that if he wasn’t here and he had been looking forward to it yesterday. Maybe Virgil not wanting to go with him had ruined his mood, maybe he was sulking in the Imagination and had no plans to return in time. Maybe he hated Virgil now. Maybe Virgil had destroyed Family Night forever. 

Maybe he was overthinking the whole thing. 

Sure, it wouldn’t be the first time that his adventures had gone on for longer than expected, Roman caught up in the moment. But Virgil couldn’t shake the growing dread that was filling his veins, inky poison that felt as though it was corrupting every inch of him, each breath just drawing in more and more of its venom. He pulled his hood up over his head, tugging hard on the fabric and willing himself to stay calm. Thomas was fine, he was having a good day and Virgil was not going to ruin that by his pathetic fears getting the better of him. He had already ruined enough things, both in general and today in particular. 

Roman was... probably fine. So what if he hadn’t come home yet. He would come home, he always came home. He might come home angry at Virgil still, or wounded from his adventure. He might be annoyed at Virgil worrying, if his panic had caused him to come home early when he wasn’t ready. He might blame the anxious side for everything and they could slip back to their old antagonistic roles.

Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time that Virgil had been worried over something that had turned out to be nothing. And Roman was much better than the darker thoughts of his mind was giving him credit for. He was being silly. He knew he was being silly. He knew that he was getting worked up over nothing, that at worst, Roman might be a little huffy for a night or so but that they were friends, family now and it wouldn’t be destroyed beyond repair simply because Virgil had made one little mistake.

Somehow, despite what Logan might say, knowing something to be true didn’t make all his illogical fears go away. 

Eyes returned to the Wardrobe, Virgil opting to glare at it some more. He wanted Roman to come home, he wanted the Creative Side back where he could see him - ideally, Virgil preferred it when everyone was within his line of sight, just so he could reassure himself that they were all safe, no matter how ridiculous such thoughts might actually be. 

As if in answer to his unspoken wish, the door to the wardrobe suddenly sprung open, Roman stumbling and half falling through it, the regal side losing his balance as he made contact with the carpet, almost as though he somehow forgotten where he had placed the Wardrobe. There were large clumps of snow stuck to his hair, some of the white dusting falling off to land on the carpet as Roman wobbled half on his knees, his hands flat against the ground, chest heaving heavily. It almost looked as though the landing was worse than it was although Virgil knew otherwise. Roman was probably just embarrassed that he had lost his footing and was trying to play it off like he wanted to kneel on the floor. Virgil couldn't help himself from smiling at the sight of that, at how... unroyal he looked in this moment. 

“What happened to you Princey?” Virgil snorted in amusement, feeling some of that dark energy slip away because Roman was back, Roman was safe. Of course he was safe, he was the ruler of the Imagination, he knew all the tricks that the world had to offer. It was just Virgil’s paranoid nature acting out again but now Roman was back and in front of him where he could keep an eye on him. 

Everything was okay after all. 

Roman jumped, scrambling to his feet as his eyes grew wide as he stared across the room at Virgil. The anxious side instantly felt all of that worry coil back tight inside of him as Roman continued to stare, twin statues blinking across at each other. Roman looked almost... worried at the sight of him and that expression made something swoop unpleasantly in his stomach, the panic starting to claw itself up his throat in a bid to escape. 

Cautiously, Virgil stood, one hand lifting vaguely in the direction of the other side. This was just a joke right. This had to be a joke, a really stupid, not funny joke. Roman’s crass idea at getting back at him for refusing to play along with his King's idea. Roman was an actor, was the theatre kid of the group and he knew how to sell being afraid, being confused. He was just trying to prank Virgil and it wasn’t funny but it was a joke.

It had to be a joke.

“Roman...?” His voice cracked a little as he spoke his friend’s name, internally wincing at the weakness it showed and how Roman’s little act was getting to him already. Still, if that was what it took for Roman to stop doing this, to stop scaring him, then Virgil was prepared to suffer any amount of humiliation in the short term if it meant that Roman stopped this stupid acting. He would even take Roman crowing about how he had ‘tricked’ him and how funny it was - it wasn’t - if it meant that the other smiled at him again.

Roman however, was still silently staring at him as though he had never seen him before, Virgil fighting the urge to shift from foot to foot. His nerves were screaming, every inch of him saying that this was wrong and that something terrible had somehow happened, despite the fact that Roman should have been able to take care of himself. He scowled, shifting from embarrassed to annoyed as easily as breathing and if this was the game that Roman wanted to play then Virgil was having no part of it. Not anymore. He breathed out deeply, pulling his hand back to jam them both deep into his pockets instead, so that he could curl them into fists and let the sensation of nails biting into his skin to keep him grounded. 

“Dude, knock it off, it's not funny.” 

In one fluid motion, Roman had pulled his katana from its sheath and Virgil felt his heart shattered at the sight. He had always been afraid of a moment like this, to have Creativity stare at him as if he was truly an enemy instead of ‘merely’ an annoyance or major thorn in his side. Roman had threatened him in the past sure, back before they had reacted any sort of truce, had even rested his hand on the hilt of his sword during their worst years but he had never actually pulled it out. He had never waved the blade towards him with actual intent and yet Virgil didn’t doubt that he was doing that now. Eyes widened, staring at the sword now firmly aimed in his direction, adrenaline kicking in as he jumped backwards, leaping onto the couch and half standing, half crouching there, attention wholly fixed this new and unexpected threat.

“Who are you!” Roman demanded fiercely, his head held high. Any traces of worry or fear had been wiped clean, leaving an arrogant looking prince in its wake, someone who wasn’t afraid of anything and was instead fully prepared to strike down his enemy. 

Virgil hissed.

He couldn't help it. He felt at the end of his tether, tossed there without a care in the world, as easily as if he had been made of air. This was wrong, all wrong and it had set his whole world on its side. Virgil wanted to understand, he needed to know what was happening but until then all he could do was revert to his more basic instincts. Like hissing at a threat or annoyance.

Maybe this wasn’t really Roman, maybe it was another of Deceit’s tricks or perhaps for some strange reason Roman had made a doppelganger of himself that had wandered out of the Imagination and was able to survive somehow, despite the fact that none of them had ever wanted to leave before. Virgil had no idea if they could exist in the mindscape proper but if this wasn't really Roman then that meant it wasn't his friend threatening him with a sword and he was prepared to grasp at any straw, no matter how thin rather than face the idea Roman hated him again.

Roman glanced around the room, his breathing picking up, becoming rapid little gasps and it didn’t take a master of panic attacks like Virgil was, to recognize that his friend was on the verge of one. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it, brown eyes snapping back to Virgil, narrowed and angry. 

“Where am... I? This is not my kingdom. How did I get here, what foul magic did you use to transport me here against my will?” 

Virgil felt a soft little whine slip from him at those words, at knowing that for whatever reason, Roman didn’t remember him and had instantly decided that he was an enemy once more. It wasn’t the important thing to be focusing on, he knew it wasn’t, that was the fact that Roman seemed to have lost his memory but at the same time that was far too huge for his mind to grapple with. Also, the sight of that sword still pointed at him. He didn’t doubt that the other side would use it to defend himself if he felt threatened, his heart cracking yet further.

“Roman...”

“Stop calling me that! That is not my name! I am Prince... I am... I am the Prince. I demand that you return me at once to my rightful kingdom and turn yourself in to the guards for the crime of kidnapping.”

“Yeah... I’ll... I’ll get right on that Princey...” Virgil told him sarcastically and for a moment it was almost like before. When Roman would say something utterly ridiculous and Virgil would find some way to tease him about it. It was almost normal. If you didn’t count the sword, Roman’s confusion or the way Virgil was still half crouched atop the couch and unable to convince his legs to move. There was a long pregnant pause as they stared at each other, each waiting for the other to act. 

“You... you're not going to do that are you,” Roman half stated, half asked at last.

“No,” Virgil replied shortly, still focusing as best he could on keeping his panic in check. He needed the others here but somehow, he had a feeling that two other sides suddenly appearing would only serve to startled Roman further and he had to put what Roman needed before himself. Which meant somehow convincing his heart to stop pounding as hard as it was, in case his worry and fear drew the others back before he could convince Roman of the truth.

“You really don't remember me?”

It was impossible to keep the hurt out of his voice, no matter how illogical it was. If this really wasn’t some horrible prank - and right now, Virgil would thank Roman for playing such a trick if he admitted it was one, because at least this pain would stop - then of course Roman wouldn’t remember him, because he couldn’t remember his own name. To think that he might remember a friend instead was just silly and yet it still hurt, to have been dismissed so easily from Roman’s mind. 

“I have no idea who you are, I've never set eyes on you before. I am the Prince of the kingdom... I... the name is on the tip of my tongue, it will come to me.” Roman was growing more and more agitated by the word, as he tried to come up with his memories, with some answers to what had happened.

“What’s your name then?” Virgil asked, not unkindly, needing Roman to look past himself and mental gymnastics he was doing to protect the hole in his mind. He needed Roman to accept this horrible truth so that they could start to work on _fixing_ it.

Roman’s mouth opened and closed a few times, struggling for an answer. Shoulders slumped a little in defeat as he apparently failed to find one, Virgil feeling his heart ache more with every passing second and it was a wonder Thomas hadn’t summoned them both - that would have been hard to explain. 

“I... I... I don’t remember.” 

“I don't know what is going on but you're not a prince in a kingdom. Your name is Roman,” Virgil told him, carefully forcing his frozen limbs to move, to climb back off the couch although he made no attempt to get any closer.

“Roman...” he repeated the name back to him, a doubtful look on his face, sword lowering slowly and letting Virgil breathe a little easier now that there was no longer a weapon aimed threateningly towards him. “And I am really... not a prince?”

Virgil winched slightly. Honestly, he had hoped that Roman wouldn’t think to ask that question. It was a miracle it seemed that Roman hadn’t caught sight of his own reflection before coming here and so hadn’t realised they had the same face but now he somehow had to work out how he was going to explain all of this. It would be easier if he could just pretend that they were normal people and didn’t all have the same face. It would be easier if they weren’t all parts of Thomas and what if their host needed them before Roman was back to normal? What if he pulled him up to the real world without any warning because he needed help? How was he going to explain all of that if he had started to lie? 

Not to mention he just couldn't lie to him. Not to Roman. Not when he seemed so fragile and unsure of his reality as it was.

“N-no,” Virgil started, drawing the word out. He really didn’t want to do this but his mind was drawing a blank, a low static hum that refused to help him come up with an easier way to say it than the bunt, unrealistic truth. “You are a prince of sorts. Prince Roman. But not of some fantasy kingdom, you... you are a facet of Thomas’ personality. Like me.”

Roman stared at him again, mouth gaping open. 

“I'm sorry, what?”


	2. The Mind vs The Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two already! Welcome back to everyone, I am so pleased that you guys have been enjoying this. I forgot to say last chapter, that the wonderful title ‘In Memoriam’ is all thanks to my awesome Beta, Kat. 
> 
> Comment and Kudos feed my soul, please let me know what you think of it. And now, without further ado, enjoy the chapter!

** **

### The Mind vs The Heart

** **

The Prince - no Roman, the dark stranger had said his name was Roman and he believed him - would never admit it, but he was not feeling his normal fabulous self right now. Or at least, what he hoped was his usual fabulous self. He couldn’t remember but he felt as though he was the sort of person who was normally a very fabulous person indeed.

This whole situation was giving him a headache. 

Which wasn’t helped by the endless questions from the one who had introduced himself as Logan. He and another called Patton had suddenly appeared in the room from nowhere, Roman embarrassed to admit that he had given a small noise of surprise and jumped, hiding behind Virgil. Luckily, the action had only made the other man laugh softly, hand lifting to pat him on the shoulder before gently easing him out and explaining the situation to the two newcomers. 

Roman was very glad Virgil had been there to explain everything because he was still struggling to unpack what he had been told. That he was... a part of someone’s personality? At first glance, that sounded insane, the idea that he wasn’t real, that he lived in someone’s head and yet the more he thought about it the more it made sense. It seemed to click into his mind into a space pre-made for it, a fact that he had once known and since forgotten. As impossible as it was, Roman believed it, and would probably have believed it if the only proof had been Virgil’s word. 

That hadn’t been all the proof however. There was the way the two had appeared, there was the almost casual use of magic they all had - the one called Logan pulled a face at his use of the word magic before launching off into some very long and complicated speech about how it wasn’t magic but rather the fact that as imaginary aspects of a mind, they had all the abilities of imagination at their fingertips in various different ways depending on their core function. And so on, and so on. 

Roman zoned out after twenty seconds into the explanation, wishing he had known - remembered - to zone out sooner. 

Then there was the fact that they had the same face, subtle differences notwithstanding. All three of them and a brief look into a reflective surface had told him that Roman had the same jaw, the same piercing brown eyes - he certainly looked the best out of the four of them but that was beside the point. After a brief conversation, they decided it was probably for the best that Roman didn’t meet Thomas just yet, their host and yet another identical face. For both his own sake and for Thomas. Roman could feel a strange surge of protectiveness in him at that name and while it didn’t conjure up any memories, he didn’t doubt that he loved this Thomas even if he couldn’t remember him.

It still hurt. There was a hole in his mind and now that Roman was aware of it, he couldn’t understand how he had failed to notice the yawning chasm inside his own mind, a dark, threatening thing that seemed to want to swallow him whole. He could all but see the edge of that abyss now, crumbling away beneath his feet and Roman had to keep reminding himself of all the tiny little truths that Virgil and the others had told him. That he was Roman, that he had a place here and that they were going to do everything they could to fix it. 

A large part of Roman wanted to run back to the Wardrobe, climb back inside of it and hide in the fantasy world it offered. He wanted to find the metal tree and Bree, wanted to ride his horse away from here and back to where things had made sense. Except they hadn’t made sense had they? Roman had just been better at avoiding the truth, skirting round the giant hole and pretending it wasn’t there in the first place. He had immersed himself into the role of the Prince without questioning all the parts that didn’t make sense. It was tempting to return to that, to hide once more but it wasn’t real, it wasn’t who he was and he would lose the others if he did that.

So he ignored those thoughts as best he could, and left the door of the Wardrobe firmly shut.

Virgil vanished with a few mumbled words about not wanting to overwhelm him, Roman swallowing down the childish desire to call him back. Virgil was the first person he had seen when he entered this world, he was the one who had kept him calm, had walked him through the first few facts and tried his best to prepare him for what was going to happen.

He trusted him in a way that he found hard to do with the other two despite the promise that they were all friends. He loved them, Roman could feel that in the same part of his brain that had whispered they were telling the truth about being a side. It was the same part that told him he loved Thomas and those feelings were real, Roman knew that all the way down to his bones. He loved them all so much. 

But none of them made him feel as safe as Virgil did. 

\--

Logan tried first.

The answer would be in books. The answer had to be in books, because apparently the answer to everything was in books and it was just a matter of finding the correct book and then the correct page. There had to be a reason for what had happened, a clear and logical progression that he could find and follow back to its source. Find the source and he would find the cause and thus, the cure. When put like that, it sounded so very easy.

Roman wished he could believe him. He wanted to and there was a steady confidence to the way Logan stated the answer would be found that made him want to just believe everything he said. There was an answer and it would be found - yet Roman couldn’t help but wonder if that was true or if it was just what the other one hoped to be true. What if the answer wasn’t in books? What if it was back through the Wardrobe and in the snowfields of the world that waited for him there?

He kept quiet though, not wanting to appear ungracious when Logan was so willing to help him, a slightly surprised look on the other’s face at how readily Roman had agreed. It made Roman doubt himself and second guess his choices. While he might not know much about himself anymore, it was rapidly becoming clear to him certain things he did and didn’t like.

This heavy doubt which settled like a gloomy cloud around his shoulders was something he really didn’t like. 

Letting someone else take the lead was something else he didn’t like but Roman couldn’t tell exactly why. Was it because it was Logan? He really hoped not, hoped he wasn’t that sort of a person. Was it because he was used to taking charge? Possible, if he was the prince of this mind then it stood to reason that he would normally be the one leading and making the important decisions. Or was it because it only added to his feelings of helplessness which swamped him? 

Everything was foreign to him and he hated it. Roman wanted his memories back. He wanted all the things that had been stolen from him, the easy understanding of how they all fit together. He wanted to know the stories behind each of the pictures that lined the upstairs landing. He wanted to know which was Logan’s room without being guided to it. He was a stranger here, walking corridors as if for the first time. Every expression he saw on Logan’s face was new and although he was learning the language of the tiny little flicks of mouth or eye, it bothered him, knowing that as short a time ago as this morning, he would have known it all. 

He wanted his home to be _home_ again. He knew he belonged here, he wanted to belong here but Roman just didn’t know how. All he could do was follow Logan as he led him down the passageway to the other sides room. Roman stepped inside, mouth dropping open for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon as he stared at the chaos within. 

There was a lot of books. Every conceivable surface was overflowing with them, stacks towering high up towards the ceiling and they couldn’t be stable, surely. Bookcases lined two of the walls, each shelf crammed tight with books, more pooled in little groups where he had apparently run out of space and Roman couldn’t understand how he could find anything in this room. There didn’t even seem to be anywhere to sit beside the bed, Logan leading him to it, weaving expertly through the skyscrapers of the written word as though it was perfectly normal. For all Roman knew, it was. This was as far away from the peaceful snow of the forest as he could get. 

“Is it always this... messy in here?” Roman asked, regretting the question the second he asked, biting down on his lip as though he could somehow swallow back the words. He should already know this, he would know if this was normal or not without having to ask. The Roman that Logan knew would no doubt be at home here, would probably make some comment but it wouldn’t be like that. He didn’t know how he was supposed to interact around Logan. He didn’t know anything.

“Messy?” Logan lifted an eyebrow at Roman before turning a little to look back at his room. “I’m afraid I don’t see what you mean. Everything has a place and everything is in its place. I know where every book is so it cannot be messy.” 

Roman was pretty sure that wasn’t how messy worked. It felt as if you could know where things were and it could still be a mess. Not to mention he couldn’t help but doubt Logan’s ability to actually lay his hands on whatever book he wanted, the second he wanted it. Then again, he didn’t know did he. That was the whole problem, he didn’t know Logan or Patton. He didn’t know Virgil and he certainly didn’t know the mysterious Thomas no matter how hard he searched his mind, no matter how much he concentrated. Anything beyond a vague feeling remained frustratingly out of reach.

Logan waved a hand towards the bed, wordlessly gesturing for Roman to sit down, Logan perching himself a few feet away on the bed. Close enough that they could talk without having to raise their voices to hear each other but far enough away that he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable or trapped by close proximity. Roman was surprised - and a little guilty - to realise that Logan had probably noticed his reactions around him, the air of wariness which had coloured his every action. 

As much as he wanted to trust them, he had no reason to, no evidence beyond a gut feeling and Roman wasn't really sure how much he could trust that. So he kept himself on high alert, watching and waiting. Just in case. Logan had noticed and instead of getting mad at him, he had simply adjusted how he behaved, and was now watching him calmly with clear brown eyes.

It made Roman feel at once both safe and an experiment under a lens.

Two could play at that game. If he wanted to stare, why so much the better, Roman settling down, body turned so he was sat crossed legged and directly opposite him. Roman took the opportunity to properly examine the side beside him. Logan seemed very formal, very stiff. Every hair was in its correct place, his clothes neatly ironed and it only made the controlled chaos of the room around them look that much more stark. It was impossible to get a read on Logan, and he could feel some frustrating rising in him at that, thoughts twisting and turning on themselves, ripping apart and reforming moments later. He didn’t know Logan and it burned. 

He was still staring back at Roman, apparently unfazed by the way Roman was watching him. He was a strange one, Logan; but then weren’t they all? 

Finally, Logan cleared his throat and even that sounded formal, practised. As though he had worked out the exact time he needed to take in order to make the sound the best it could be, measured different tones both higher and lower in order to create the correct sound that would properly grab the attention of everyone in the area and hold it. 

“If you’re comfortable, we shall begin.” A thick notepad and pen appeared out of nowhere. Logan flicked it open to a new page in a practised motion as Roman eyed all the blank pages with trepidation. He didn’t like the promise all those lined pages offered, about how much work this promised to be. Roman didn’t think he liked work very much. Or, at least, not the sort of work that involved endlessly taking notes and reading books. He hoped he wasn’t a lazy side, he hoped he did work when he had to, that he wanted to work on... on... on whatever it was that he worked on.

It suddenly occurred to Roman that they said they were actually ‘sides’ to Thomas, parts of his personality and that made sense yes but then they had all introduced themselves with names. A name wasn't a side of someone. A name didn’t say what side of Thomas they were showing to the world. 

What was Logan supposed to represent? 

For that matter, what was Roman? 

“So what are you, Knowledge? What am I?” Roman asked after a pause, ignoring his words for a moment in order to focus on the far more pressing matter that had come to him. Was he meant to be doing something right now? Surely they would tell him if he was meant to be doing something specific. Eyes dipped, staring at his tunic, the crisp whiteness making his eyes water a little and it was so bright, so clean. It made the red seem all the more vivid, the sash cutting across his chest almost as though following a sword wound. Virgil had said he was still a prince but what on earth could a Prince bring to someone's personality? 

Logan seemed - impossibly - to somehow sit up even straighter, a hint of a proud smile twitching on his lips. 

“I am Thomas’ logic, the most important aspect of his mind. I represent something very deep and powerful within him, something that cannot be ignored or explained away. The others all listen to me and I help guide Thomas whenever he has an important decision to make. Without me I am sure he would completely fall apart. Now focus please, we have a lot to get through.” 

Then, the questions had begun. 

Roman had thought he had asked a lot of questions in the living room but now he realised how naive he had been to think that those had been the extent of Logan’s hunger, his desire for knowledge. He wanted to know _everything_. Every memory Roman had, every thought that had passed through his mind within the Imagination, every little step that he had taken. He wanted to know how far back his memory actually went, probing with almost exhaustive detail. It wasn’t enough for Roman to say that he could remember reaching the metal tree - the lamppost - and had dismounted his horse, he needed to explain exactly how Bree had looked, he wanted to know the feel of riding in order to satisfy Logan that it was an actual memory and not some barely formed though that vanished under the slightest pressure.

It scared him, how many of his so called memories were just that. Things his mind had apparently created in order to fill in the blanks it was faced with but when he actually thought about them, they made no sense. Like his kingdom, like the world that existed beyond the snow and trees. 

Then there were certain things that he wasn’t sure about. The flickering thought of being on a quest was one of them. Was that real? Had someone told him that he had something very important to do - the restless urge of which was still bubbling away in his veins, urging him to act despite not knowing what - or had he simply made it up to explain his strange attire. 

Logan wanted to know if Roman was feeling any discomfort, if he could check his head over for any signs of injury in case there was a physical reason as to why he was without his memory. There was nothing there but it didn’t stop Logan’s probing fingers checking his skull time and time again. 

He wanted to go over and over the moment in the forest, exactly what had led him to make the choice to visit the metal tree in the first place, why he had felt drawn there and why he had explored the light which had led him into the living room and the normal area of the mind. 

When Logan exhausted all the possible questions he could think of, he simply flicked back to the start of the notebook and started to go through his questions again, wanting to make sure a repeated question got the same answer back. It was the only way to be sure that he was getting accurate results and although Roman had no way to be sure, he somehow felt that a third run through of the questions awaited him after they had finished the second. 

He needed to get out of here. He needed to breathe, to think about something else because his head was hurting now. Not because of any wound he hadn’t suffered but because each probing question only proved how much he was actually missing. Roman managed about half of the questions before it was all too much, standing and stumbling to the door with some mumbled excuse that he couldn’t even remember. Logan thankfully had let him go without a fuss. Roman looked back as the door closed on him to see the logical side hunched over the notebook, mouth silently moving as he read back through the words.

It only occurred to him afterwards that Logan had never explained what Roman was.

\--

It wasn’t that much of a surprise to find Patton tried next, approaching the problem in a completely different manner to the other side. 

Roman had retreated to the living room, the one place that he remembered. There were elements of comfort within it, and he remembered it better than the hallway because he had been here before. He also hoped - incorrectly as it turned out - that Virgil might have returned to the living room after they left but it seemed as though he wasn’t that lucky. 

The temptation of the Wardrobe was even stronger here, because Roman could see it. Sitting so innocently, doors closed and yet whispering its magic to him, promising him secrets if he would pass through the entrance and return to the land he had started in. By the point, Roman was starting to grow a little desperate. There was so much he was missing and each passing moment made him more and more aware of that. All the pictures that filled the house spoke of so much love, so much joy and it hurt to think he was missing out. The Roman in those pictures beamed out of the frames with such intensity, such pride and love that it almost took his breath away. He was always posing in those images, arm slung around someone’s shoulder or wielding his sword with a mixture of grace and pose. 

If nothing else, at least he apparently knew how to use the weapon. 

“Roman?” Patton’s voice was soft, almost unsure, breaking into his thoughts. Roman looked up, seeing the other side almost directly in front of him, a worried smile on his features. “I thought we could look through your room? Maybe seeing something familiar will jog a memory?” 

It seemed as good a plan as any, Roman pushing aside all the thoughts of the photos and everything he was missing. Maybe he could get them back, and that thought alone was enough to make him almost bounce to his feet, following Patton as he led them back upstairs.

“So what do you represent for Thomas?” Roman asked as they climbed the stairs. Patton and Logan might share the same face and the same glasses but that was where all and any similarity ended. There was almost always a smile on Patton’s face, the expression infectious. His warmth made Roman want to relax, to close his eyes and just bask in the gentle love that he could feel from him. He also found he didn’t want to disappoint him, a sensation that he hadn’t felt when talking to Logan - he had wanted to get on with the logical side of course, he had wanted to get to know him, had wanted to help him, but he hadn’t felt this urge to want Logan to be proud of him in the way he did for Patton.

“I'm his morality kiddo!”

“And… and me? What do I represent?” Roman asked softly, some part of him almost afraid of the answer. Morality and Logic, they both sounded like super important things, so what did that leave for him? He didn’t feel very smart or very confident in any particular skill but there had to be something. He just couldn’t imagine what it was.

Patton came to a stop halfway up the stairs, turning to look at him, mouth slightly agape. He stared for a moment before the expression softened, slipping into something that looked an awful lot like pity and Roman didn’t want that either.

“I'm ... guessing Logan didn’t mention it to you? Of course he didn’t. He means well and tries his best but sometimes he gets a little too focused on what is in front of him, what he can physically touch, see and sense rather than the more... vague parts of life.” 

“So? What, um. What am I?”

“You’re such an important part of Thomas, you are his creativity, his inspiration. You dream up all sorts of wonderful worlds, you help him in his job day to day, you create and you shine. You’re awesome Ro.”

That. That didn’t sound so bad. Actually, it sounded pretty good. It would explain why he was dressed like he was, and why he had been wandering around in some make believe world. Creativity. It didn’t really ring a bell, it didn’t slot into place and click like he had been hoping but it didn’t sound impossible either. He was in charge of dreaming. Maybe if he kept on dreaming and hoping, he could somehow… imagine his memories back? 

It was as good a plan as any other really.

Three down, one to go. All he needed now was to know what Virgil was, his mind turning over all the possibilities. Not that he really had many possibilities, he didn’t know the other side well enough. He didn’t know _any_ of them, including himself, well enough. 

“And Virgil? What is he?” Roman asked. Above him, Patton froze, his smile diming a fraction before he glanced away and resumed his trek towards Roman’s room. He didn’t answer at first, hands playing with the edges of his sleeves, bunching them up so that the paw prints really were little paws. It wasn’t until they reached their destination that he looked as though he was about to speak, voice soft and barely there.

“I think... I think he should tell you that himself Roman,” Patton said at last, an almost guilty shift to his features as he moved from foot to foot, incapable of standing still. Roman couldn’t understand what he had to be guilty about, it was clearly common knowledge and if he wanted to regain his place in this circle of friends - something he wanted so badly - then he needed to know the basics like that. 

“Why? It's not like its something bad right?” Roman was smiling as he spoke but Patton didn’t seem to be able to match the expression. He could feel his own faltering slightly, worry colouring his thoughts. “Is... is it something bad?”

“No!” Patton was shaking his head vehemently, his glasses bouncing up and down on his nose as he moved his head, Roman for a moment caught by the sparks of light which bounced off the lens in time to the movement. “But... I think Virgil might be worried that you might think it is bad. It is his story kiddo, okay?” 

“Whatever you say Patton.” 

There and then, Roman made a silent vow to himself not to do that. No matter what Virgil was, he refused to look at him and see anything other than the side that had been so concerned for him, the side that had gone out of his way to look after him, to keep him from getting too overwhelmed by everything. Virgil was a good guy, Roman just knew it even without knowing anything else about him. He was beyond curious to know what Virgil represented now, even more than he had been before. Not to mention how it could possibly be considered a bad thing but he would take that up with Virgil himself. 

First there was this moment, and hopefully getting a few pieces of himself back. 

The door open, Roman stepping inside and looking around without even an attempt at appearing casual about it. The room was bright. Sunlight streaming in from a huge bay window, the seated area there full of plump cushions and stuffed animals that made it look like a very tempting place to rest and watch the world go by. He wondered what was out of that window, what view there could possibly be within a mind before forcing his gaze away from it in order to look around more. 

There was a four poster bed set against one wall with delicate red curtains tied back around it, an elegant writing desk against the other, each sitting on a giant red and golden circular rug that looked as inviting and as comfortable as the rest of the room. Against the final wall, the one that had the door, were shelves lined with all sorts of trophies, marks of achievements that Roman was clearly very proud of because he wanted to look at them every time he left the room. 

It all looked... alien to him. So remote and unexplained. As if he was staring into a stranger's room that had no connection to him at all and no matter how hard Roman stared at the furniture or the trophies that lined the wall, he couldn’t feel any little spark that told him the meaning, the story behind it. 

Hand lifted and fell, drifting over the various items that littered the room. He picked up one of the stuffed animals as he passed, hands idly running over the purple elephant shaped creature as if he could somehow touch his way back to a memory. He didn’t even know what this thing was called and while it looked like an elephant there were a couple of subtle differences, such as a colour which told him that this wasn't a normal one.

Strange that he knew what an elephant was despite not having seen one since coming here and yet didn’t know what this was in his hands. Roman was missing so much and this room wasn’t helping. Nothing was familiar here, nothing screamed that it belonged to him and while he liked the choices for the bed and admired the beauty of the wooden writing desk that looked as though it had been carved from a magical tree, a warm walnut swirling delicate patterns across the smooth surface. 

It was the sort of thing he might have picked himself. The sort of thing that he apparently had and it felt like a whole new blow to admire it and still not actually feel anything towards it. No joy, excitement, dread, nothing that he could use. He was Creativity. Surely that meant the writing desk got used a lot and so should have so many memories attached to it. 

If it did, they all remained mute, cold and silent within the empty spaces in his mind.

Roman turned blindly from it, eyes fixed on the wall beside him. There were posters of various animated animals covering most of the left over space on the walls, some of which Roman recognized from the toys in the window and one of which was still hanging from his arms.

“Anything kiddo?” Patton's voice was soft, comforting, the other side a few paces away from him, staring with undisguised hope.

Suddenly, Roman felt as though he didn't want to be comforted. He didn't want to be wrapped in blanket hugs and told that everything was going to be alright when none of them could know that for sure. They didn't even know how it was possible for a part of Thomas’ mind to lose itself in the way Roman had, and none of them had any idea if and how this would affect Thomas himself. 

They were all lost in the dark and right now it was no comfort to be lost together because they were still _lost_. 

He could feel a great wave of anger rising up in him, blind fury at the world in general and his situation in particular, in how unfair and unfeeling it was. How he was stood in his own bedroom and nothing was right. Roman even felt angry at Patton, for being so cheerful, so hopeful. For thinking that things could be solved so easily. For having his memories and knowing exactly where he fit into the world. 

It was a choking, desperate beast in his soul, trying to claw its way up and out of his throat. It wanted to rage and feel rage in turn, it wanted the smash of broken things and the brief savage satisfaction of knowing it had caused harm, that release of emotions that were at once so toxic and so tempting. 

“I'm going back to the first room,” Roman mumbled instead, swallowing down those feelings and the glass shards which came with them. They tumbled down his throat, lacerating it as they did so, making him feel as though he might drown in blood and hate, in hopelessness and loss. He swallowed and swallowed - and swallowed, and swallowed. Dragging down the feelings, trying to hide it all away until he could breathe clearly once more. 

It wasn't very gracious or prince like of him, to ignore Patton and his question but Roman couldn't risk speaking to him and letting some of that monster slip free. Memories of Patton might only stretch back a short distance but it was enough to tell him that Patton didn't deserve his wrath, didn't deserve this sickness that didn’t seem creative but instead destructive. To his great relief, Patton took a step to the side and let him go without another word. 

\--

They kept trying. 

Logan rarely left his room aside to ask Roman a couple of questions whenever he felt as though he was close to having a breakthrough. After getting his answers, he would vanish back into his bedroom, working hard. Patton had taken to bringing Logan food to make sure he was eating properly, refusing to leave Logan’s side until he was satisfied he was taking care of himself. When he wasn’t cooking, he was cleaning, almost maniacally polishing every surface, dusting areas over and over again. Every now and then he would bring something to Roman that apparently had some significance to him in the hope of sparking a memory, hiding the disappointment everytime it failed. 

And Virgil - well, Roman wasn’t really sure where the purple clad side had vanished to. He saw him sometimes in passing, the darker looking side apparently keeping an eyes on Thomas and making sure he was okay. Roman still didn’t know what Virgil represented, but he was working hard, that was for sure.

He was hurting them. 

Roman might not remember his past with them and he might not know them anymore but he knew enough to recognise that he was causing pain as they all tried and failed to bring his memories back, draining them as they tried and tried again. Roman couldn’t take just sitting still and watching that happen. He couldn’t handle hurting them without trying to fix it and they weren’t making any progress no matter how optimistic Patton tried to remain. 

The answers were through the Wardrobe. They had to be. That was where it had happened, that was where he had gotten lost and so it stood to reason that was where he would find both answers and a solution. Through the Wardrobe. 

He stood in front of it now, the room dark and quiet around him. Part of Roman felt guilty about slipping down here at night without telling them where he was going but he was sure that they would just try to stop him. Patton in particular seemed terrified at the idea of him going anywhere unsupervised, as though the lack of memory somehow rendered him useless. He couldn’t just wait any longer, he had to confront whatever had happened head on. 

“Going on an adventure Princey?” 

Voice came out of the shadows, Roman jumping a little as he squinted, trying to make out who the rough shape was that lurked by the side of the Wardrobe. Shape solidified a few moments later into the somewhat familiar form of Virgil, an intent look in the one eye that Roman could clearly see through his hair. 

“Oh, uh I... couldn’t sleep?” Roman suggested after a pause that had gone on for too long for anything he could say to be believable. 

“Save it,” Virgil said, flashing Roman a smile that did not completely reassure him. It was one that reminded him of some wild beast, a danger that made the hairs on the back of his neck want to stand on edge. The feeling contrasted sharply with the safety he still felt whenever he looked at the other side, leaving him even more confused than normal. 

“I know you too well, remember?” Virgil paused, a look of horror crossing his features, cheeks dusting pale pink in the dim light. All of a sudden, that danger, that fear was gone and he was left looking at an embarrassed, awkward Virgil instead. “Wait, obviously you don’t remember, oh god, that was crude of me, I didn’t mean it like that. I just... I knew you would get impatient and try and solve it yourself so I’ve been watching and waiting.”

Was that where Virgil had been all these nights? Waiting beside the Wardrobe because he had known that Roman would be unable to resist its call for too long? Inexplicably, he could feel a surge of annoyance rise in him, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he fought to keep himself calm. 

“So what, you’re going to tell me to stop and let the others do what they are doing? Tell me that I should just wait?” More waiting and Roman didn’t think he could cope with yet more waiting. 

“Nah,” Virgil said, shoulders rising and falling in an easy shrug that Roman almost believed. There was a tense energy to the movements, a live wire running through Virgil’s form and he half expected him to burst into flames with all the pent up energy that seemed to be trying to escape in every quick, barely there motion. 

“You would just go some other time, it isn’t in you to just sit and wait for someone else to save you. So I’m coming with you.”


	3. The Quest Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, welcome back! Finally starting to get into the story proper, this has one of my favourite moments of the whole story in it. Just a tiny moment but it made me smile. Horses names are taken from the Narnia novel, _The Horse and His Boy._ The Stay Puft Man is of course from the _Ghostbusters_ franchise. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace
> 
> Comment and Kudos feed my soul, please let me know what you think of it. And now, without further ado, enjoy the chapter!

** **

### The Quest Begins

** **

Snow was still lightly falling as the two of them tumbled back into the woods, Roman caught Virgil as the darker dressed side half stumbled against the knee high snow surrounding them. He wasn’t sure what he expected the journey between the two realms to be, not really. In the end it had been like stepping through a doorway and finding the floor on the other side wasn’t the same level as the one you had just come from without any warning. At least Roman had been beside him, clearly more prepared for the transition, a soft smile on his face at knowing something Virgil hadn’t.

He was paranoid a lot of the time, constantly on the lookout for signs that the others might be laughing behind his back or something similar. Virgil knew that the smile was because of the stumble, the way in which Roman had been able to play the hero - and he also knew it wasn’t a smile of malice or that he had been expecting Virgil to fall. It had come after he supported him, after he realised that for the first time since this whole nightmare had begun, here was something that he knew at last.

Virgil had been waiting a long time for this moment. He knew that Roman would do this of course, because he might be without his memories but he was still the same brash, brave, bold idiot he had always been. Affectionately of course. He was just glad that he made the right choice in choosing to watch the Wardrobe entrance. 

“Come on, my horse should be this way,” Roman told him, his soft smile shifting into something bright and excited. He suddenly seemed giddy, more at home here in the wild of the trees and snow banks than he had ever seemed moping around the living room and hoping for memories that didn’t come.

If Virgil didn’t know better he might have suspected that this was all a trick by Roman in order to get him to come and visit this world with him. 

He exhaled harshly, breath slipping out like white smoke as he did his best to will such negative thoughts away. Roman wasn’t like that and it was wrong of Virgil to even imagine otherwise. Roman was his friend, even when he didn’t remember it and the creative side might be a lot of things, most of them annoying but he wasn’t cruel. Never cruel or cowardly. 

Carefully, Virgil started to follow Roman, stepping in the footprints left by the other side so that he didn’t have to push against the dense white wetness quite so hard. It was still unpleasant going. Roman’s stride was just a little bit longer than his own so that he had to half hop from spot to spot to stay within the tracks left by his friend. Head dipped a little, bangs falling back over his eyes as he moved and almost his whole attention was focused on where he was going, on making sure he didn’t fall flat on his face as they went.

There was still that little bit of him watching the world around them, keeping an eye out for any potential danger, on guard against anything that might be lurking in wait. Virgil read the books and while he had no idea how much Roman had used them as inspiration, he knew that in the novels wolves and other dangerous beasts lay in wait for unsuspecting travellers. They were tamed by the time of King Peter, the role Roman had claimed for his own. Then again, the snow had gone as well by that point so whatever this place was, it wasn’t a completely faithful recreation of any one moment of the book. Instead, it seemed more a flavour of the whole series. 

It was his job after all to keep Roman safe. It was one of the reasons as to why he had been so determined to join him in his quest to try and learn the truth but not the only one. Roman was his friend, and despite the bickering the two of them often took part in, Virgil cared for him deeply. He couldn’t just let Roman go running off into the wilds of the Imagination without some kind of backup, some support, who knew what might happen to him, what sort of state he might be in next time he stumbled back into the main mindscape. Roman was still his friend. 

A friend who made him trudge through freezing cold frozen water.

There was way more snow that he expected, Virgil saw yet even more flakes start to fall, the sight bringing a fresh shiver through his body. 

“I hate snow.” Virgil scowled as he spoke, arms wrapping around himself in a bid to try and keep a little warm. It wasn’t even that he hated snow, not really. Snowballs, snowmen, snow angels... with the right people, he was sure would be a lot of fun. It had never snowed in the mindscape since he had been accepted by the other light sides, and so he never really got to experience those sorts of things. 

Snow rarely gotten as far as the dark sides area when he was growing up and although he had been sheltered from the worst of it, there had still been moments when he had been alone and at the mercy of some of the worst elements of Thomas’ mind. The Dark sides had delighted in hiding rocks inside snowballs that were then thrown at the anxious side or forced Virgil into a snowman, using their powers to trap him in the cold before his brother had been able to pull him f- no, he wasn’t going to think of that. 

Virgil probably _didn’t_ hate snow but it was hard to think of any positive memories. 

He did hate the cold though. Hated the damp and the way it would sink into you without any escape, when you were stuck wearing the damp clothes and it just made you more aware of how uncomfortable you were and how far away from a nice warm room and fresh warm clothes. It just reminded you of misery you had endured to get to this point. He hated the constant feel of wet against skin, each step wrapping that pain deeper and deeper arou- and no, no, no, no, that was another thing he wasn’t going to think about. 

The list of things not to think about was always changing and always long. 

Roman hadn’t answered yet and that was something new about this version of Roman, something he wasn’t sure he liked. He was a lot less eager to engage with Virgil, a lot less willing to argue or tease him, probably because he didn’t know where the boundaries were. A better person would probably talk to Roman about it, would tell him that it was okay and that they fought like friends. A better person might even try and rein all of that in, try and behave like a better person while Roman’s memories were missing and he didn’t understand their friendship. Virgil’s plan mostly revolved around being his usual uncharming self in the hope that Roman might slip into his old behaviour and remember something.

Virgil lifted his head, staring at Roman who by now reached the lamp post and his horse, cooing over the beast softly. Roman looked... happier now they were here, a little more at ease. He seemed more relaxed now, hand lightly patting at the neck of his horse, Virgil just taking a moment to watch Roman. The regal looking side stood up taller now, no longer hunched into himself, no longer upset at every photo or item that screamed he was still a stranger. 

Virgil supposed that made sense in a way. This was where his memories first started again and he knew these woods as a simple, uncomplicated thing. There was no annoying questions, no hurting pain to be found here and perhaps now that he didn’t need to be on his guard all the time against that and against the endless failures of not remembering something. 

Here, he remembered where he had left his horse, here, he had a past even if it was only a short one. Here, Roman had hope and that meant that Virgil had hope in turn. 

Really, Virgil would put up with a lot more than being cold and wet if it meant that he helped Roman feel even a fraction better about this mess they were in. He just hoped Patton wouldn’t be too upset when he woke up in the morning and found the note Virgil left taped to the door of the Wardrobe. Roman still hadn’t acknowledged him and the quiet started to make him feel a little antsy, the side picked up his pace and returned to half leaping from footprint to footprint. The snow fell so fast and thick that they were already half filled in and it was a wonder that the horse was okay; but then Roman probably originally designed it that way.

“So what is the plan Princey?” Virgil blurted out when he was only a few paces away from him, unable to handle the silence any longer. Roman blinked slowly, looking over at him and shrugging softly. 

“I was on a quest... at least... I think I was...” Roman looked down at his horse again, a frown crossing his features as he trailed off before giving a soft little sigh and he was starting to look like the Roman from the mindscape again, worn down, weighed by sins he couldn’t remember but feeling the scars of his choices nevertheless.

“Okay,” Virgil prompted, wanting to know the plan, wanting Roman to be the brave and bold idiot he knew he was. He was meant to lead them in this quest, to make the choices that Virgil didn’t think he was capable of. Although it pained him to even think it, he knew that Roman was the hero and he was little more than the sidekick. Maybe the comic relief whose destiny it was to fall into every hole and trap laid out in front of them. God, he hoped that wasn’t what he was. 

“I think I need to learn what it was? Or who sent me on it? Maybe do it? Or... something...” The confidence ebbed away from Roman with every word, self doubt creeping in its place and Virgil knew he was going to have to do something before this got even worse. Before Roman just gave up; crushing thoughts of doubt and defeat were Virgil’s speciality not his. 

He was being selfish in wanting Roman to act as he used to, because this wasn’t the Roman that he knew but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t still be Roman. Virgil shouldn’t try and push him into acting how he thought he should act - Virgil knew only too well what it was like to be confronted with a mask not of your own choosing at every turn and feel that you had no choice but to wear it because it was what other people expected. He wouldn’t do that to Roman, even if it was for a good reason. Roman was still his friend, regardless of memories and he needed to stop acting otherwise. 

Anxiously, Virgil looked around, hoping for inspiration to just drop from the sky and appear in front of him. Anything to just tell him what he was supposed to say or do next. 

There was just snow and trees and more snow as far as the eye could see and maybe he did hate the stuff after all. 

“Well that’s a great plan and all but there is only one horse...” Virgil found himself muttering, mind flailing and unable to come up with anything that wasn’t ‘point out all the flaws like the wet blanket he was’ plan. Plus, he was willing to go to a lot of lengths and put himself through plenty of embarrassing, uncomfortable, awkward or humiliating things but he drew the line at having to share a horse with Roman. He wasn’t going to do that.

Who was he kidding? Of course, he would, he just really, really, didn’t want to. 

As if in answer to his complaint, a soft whinny drifting through the air towards them, a horse trotting out from the trees a moment later to wander over and join the little group. 

Virgil felt something uncoil a little in his chest at the sight of the pale horse, a breath of relief slipping from his lips. Roman did this. Perhaps not on purpose, he probably had no idea as to the extent of his powers within the Imagination, no idea how the currents of Thomas’ mind bent so easily to his will. But somewhere inside of him, there was still the Roman who saw a problem Virgil pointed out and moved to fix it. He might not remember anything, but he was still Roman and that was what Virgil needed to focus on, not trying to make him act any other way. Because he would still be his friend. 

“Hwin!” 

“Hwin?” Virgil repeated, feeling that looseness instantly tighten once more, his nerves flaring to life and screaming that this was wrong. This was something to worry about even if he couldn't put his finger exactly on what was wrong. 

“Yeah, that... that is her name? How did I know that?” Roman didn’t look pleased by the revelation, eyes widening a little as he looked between Virgil and Hwin, searching for some kind of answer. 

“You know what I think you’re right. We need to find out more about your quest and who gave it to you,” Virgil hastily told him, trying to mask his own worry as best he could and focus on the plan once more. Roman didn’t know anyone else's' name, he didn’t even know what a Heffalump was and yet back in this world he knew the name of a random horse? Something was very wrong here, his vague sense of doom was working overtime, trying to draw his attention to something on top of the very large and very obvious worry of the memory loss.

He shook his head, dislodging small flecks of snow from his hair and creating a mini snow flurry within the still falling snow. Virgil only wished his own negative thoughts and fears could be dispelled as easily as those flakes had been.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” Virgil suggested, for once feeling that restless urge to not stand still. Some part of him wanted to retreat still, wanted to run away from all of this and just hide under the covers until the sun went away in the vague, ill defined hoped that this all might be some horrible nightmare and maybe things would magic themselves better. 

They wouldn’t of course. And he couldn’t hide as he so badly wanted, which meant he had to face the issue as best he could, Virgil gingerly climbing up onto Hwin’s back. She seemed a placid sort, barely moving as he settled himself, before giving the very softest of whinnies as if in greeting. Roman mounted his own horse with far more grace and ease than Virgil, the anxious side idly wondering if it was some muscle memory at work there.

They rode almost side by side as the trees gradually began to thin out, giving them more room to move freely. The silence that settled around them was a little awkward but it wasn’t as bad as some of their interactions when they merely glared at each other across a room. There wasn’t that same heat here thankfully, there wasn’t that hate and Virgil knew it was sick and wrong of him but he couldn’t help but feel almost glad that Roman had lost his whole memory instead of just part of it. What did that say about him, that he was happier knowing Roman didn’t know anything about himself rather than the possibility that he might have some memories of their early years when they had not been friends.

The silence continued to stretch on around them. It was uncomfortable in that Virgil didn’t know what to say, too worried about bringing up any of the usual, safe topics they could talk about because Roman didn’t know anything about Disney now, or the videos, or even the Fanders. Let alone Thomas himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Roman fidget slightly in his saddle, his head tilted a little to look towards Virgil and then away again, back to the white trail in front of them. There was something on Roman’s mind, some question he had that for whatever reason he was doing his best not to ask. Virgil bit at the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling at the way Roman squirmed slightly and he knew it wouldn’t be long before his self control broke. Roman never had been very good at holding his own curiosity in check.

“So what do you represent for Thomas anyway Virgil? Patton wouldn’t tell me.” 

There it was. Virgil finally turned his head to look at him properly, instead of merely watching him in glances. Roman tried to look casual as he spoke, but the other side was doing a terrible job of it and Virgil could only imagine how curious he really had to be, how it had to be eating him up inside.

Bless Patton for not telling his secret. Bless him for knowing that Virgil would see it as an invasion of his privacy despite the fact that Roman already knew it. It wasn’t about the secret itself, but more the fact that Virgil wanted to be able to control the narrative, wanted to be there when Roman learnt the truth. That was all. No, that was a lie and he couldn’t lie, not even to himself. 

It was also the secret itself. The dark, heavy secret of what he was. Some people listed Anxiety as a disease, a disorder and he knew in his heart that he was capable of becoming that. It didn’t matter how much he genuinely wanted to help Thomas and how his intentions had always been good, there was always that fear in the back of his mind, the knowledge that he could slip and become a danger no matter what he wanted. That he really was a Dark Side. 

How could he tell Roman he was a Dark Side?

“Hmm... why don’t you tell me Princey? See if you can work it out, it can be like another quest?” Virgil kept his voice light, almost carefree as if it wasn’t anything important, as though it was nothing more than a game. “Who knows, maybe it will even help your memory loss if you can work it out... I’ll tell you if you guess right.” 

For a moment there was silence as Roman considered his words, Virgil finding himself holding his breath and hoping that just once, something would go right for him and that he would swallow the - admittedly lame - excuse as to why he didn’t want to tell him. 

“Oh I’ll figure it out, don’t you worry!” Roman promised at last, a slightly teasing smile of his own, on his lips. It made Virgil’s heart ache a little at the sight of it, at the trust that Roman placed so willingly into Virgil’s hands. It didn’t seem to occur to him even for a moment that there could be any other reason as to why Virgil didn’t want to admit his trait, why he hid such a basic thing from him.

It hurt, all the way down to the tattered remains of his soul, to think that Roman wholeheartedly believed that Virgil was something good. 

Virgil just wasn’t ready to tell him what he really was and lose the friendship they had been starting to create. He wasn’t ready to go back to the earliest days of their existence when they had hated each other, when neither had been prepared to trust the other and each convinced that their way of doing things, was the only way for Thomas, the only way to truly help him. 

Thomas. He hoped their host was doing alright

What was he thinking? He knew better, he knew exactly how Thomas was handling this because when he hadn’t been guarding the Wardrobe and waiting for Roman to try and use it, he watched over Thomas and tried not to bite his thumb nail to pieces. He saw how Thomas was managing over these past few days, how he was getting by moment to moment. 

Thomas wasn’t doing so good. 

Not without his creativity, without that drive, that push. It wasn’t just his work that suffered - although that of course grinded to a standstill. Thomas barely had the inspiration to send out even the most basic of tweet letting his fans know he was okay let alone work on any project. It was his whole life that seemed to stop. He didn’t have the creative desire to cook anything more than the most basic of foods because anything else required imagination or the desire to make something bright, bold, different. As for the play... well, it was a good thing they were as far along as they were and that Thomas had been able to get through the last rehearsal without needing to offer any real advice although Virgil was sure the actors would have benefited from it. It had been hard enough for Virgil to persuade him to go along to it at all. 

Without Roman, there were a lot of things that Thomas didn’t do. Virgil never really realised how much he brought to Thomas’ overall personality. He knew that Roman was super important of course, and that Thomas needed him but there were so many other parts of his life that Virgil never really thought would be tied so strongly to his creativity. Even something like a video game or movie was a chore these days because he lacked any desire to really connect to characters or story. Without that, he was left wanting to watch only the most popcorn of movies, things with explosions, action and not much thought. 

Is this what it felt like when he had ‘ducked out’? Except he had done it on purpose, of course, not caring - or caring too much - about what his absence would do to Thomas. He never expected it to be such a big deal as it seemed to be. Some part of Virgil, in the dark small hours of the early morning even wondered if it had been as noticeable as they said, if he really mattered at all. 

That didn’t matter. He might not matter. What mattered was that Thomas needed his creativity back before he stopped cooking completely. 

Yet another reason why they had to fix this as quickly as possible. 

“I thought the animals in Narnia could talk?” Virgil asked, trying to change the subject. Roman shrugged, apparently nonplussed by the question.

“Not that I know of,” he replied, Hwin giving another soft neigh. In agreement or protest? Either way it seemed as those animal noises was all that she was capable of doing. They should talk though. He remembered that from the book. Not just the magical Aslan but almost every animal had been able to because animals made up almost the whole population. They weren’t going to get very far if they couldn’t question the animals.

“Roman... do me a favour? Believe that they can talk? Like, really believe it?”

“Why?”

“Just, trust me, please,” Virgil pleaded, and he had no idea if this would even work or not but Roman still had power here, even if he didn’t remember. Virgil just hoped this would be enough. 

“Okay...” Roman closed his eyes for a moment, face screwing up a little in concentration as he seemed to physically will himself to believe. It was yet another example of trust that Virgil knew he really didn’t deserve. 

“Hey can you guys talk?” Virgil asked after a moment, pushing down the thought of how ridiculous this was, talking to a pair of horses. He didn’t know if his own feelings would influence this or not but he didn’t want his anxious energy to overwhelm Roman’s creative desires, he didn’t want to ruin this like he ruined everything and what was he thinking, trying to change the way the world worked just so they could get some info-

“Indeed we can Master Virgil. I am Bree, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The head of the horse Roman was riding turned to look back at them, a deep voice emanating from him. 

“What in the heckity heck?” Roman yelped, jumping a little in his seat, hand pressed against his heart. 

“Wow... I didn’t think that would work...” Virgil breathed, eyes wide. Roman really was powerful, a hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly as a new thought occurred to him, and somehow being on the back of a horse that could talk seemed so much worse than riding one that couldn’t. “Is... uh... are you okay with us... riding you both?” 

“I am honoured to guide such a noble prince, I chose to carry my Prince, believe me if we did not wish you upon our backs, you would not be there.” There was a hint of steel, of pride to those words that Virgil didn’t doubt them and he was suddenly struck by the mental image of being tossed from Hwin’s back and then stomped to death by hooves. Virgil made a note to never anger the horses. 

“Sweet. Okay, okay... um... do you know what happened to Roman?”

“Happened?” Bree asked. They stopped in the middle of the path, shifting a little so that they were now facing each other. Roman still looked faintly shocked by the whole thing and Virgil wasn’t sure if it was because the horses were suddenly talking or if he had worked out the link as to why they were. 

“His memory only goes back a short way, the first thing he remembers is-”

“Is you,” Roman finished, voice surprisingly steady despite the expression on his face. His hands curled tightly around the reins, knuckles almost turning white. “The first thing I truly remember is riding through the woods with you, to the metal tree.”

“You were talking to the White Wizard when I saw you for the first time,” Bree offered thoughtfully, head dipping up and down a little as he spoke. 

“The... White.. Wizard..” Virgil parroted back, face as blank as his voice. A White Wizard. Great. So it seemed as though Roman had managed to put more elements into this world from the books than he had first thought. With his own spin on it of course, but he shouldn’t be surprised that there was a Wizard at play. Virgil refused to join in so of course Roman made a new villain in his place, forced to revert to the story. 

Or maybe he was being unfair and there would always have been a White Wizard. Why have one enemy when you can have two and make things that much harder for yourself?

“Indeed. He rules this land, some whisper unjustly but without anyone stepping forward claiming to be the rightful heir there is nobody willing to risk rebellion, to want to try and topple him. For all that he has done, good and ill, he at least rules and brings order of a sort to the land.”

“Some might say order at the point of a wand is no order at all.” Hwin spoke for the first time, her voice low, a barely there whisper as though she hardly dared make her point at all. Bree gave a snort of disapproval, head twitching away to examine the treeline for a moment before glancing back, large dark eyes narrowed in disapproval. 

“Anyway. As I was saying. The White Wizard told me that you were the Prince of the realm, his Prince, and that I had to aid you in your quest. I could hardly refuse.” 

“Did he tell you what it was?” Roman asked eagerly, leaning forward as if that would somehow make the answer easier to hear or get the one he wanted. Virgil was more concerned about the way Bree looked at the trees, as though fearful of unfriendly ears listening. A White Wizard put a whole new spin on things and added an extra layer of danger that Virgil really did not like. 

True, he didn’t like any layer of danger, but this was something extra spicy and so extra disliked. 

“I’m afraid not. Only that it concerned another member of his family and it was very important. I can take you to where we met if that helps?” Bree offered, Roman breaking out into a relief and slightly shaky smile. 

“That sounds wonderful,” He enthused. Virgil tried to offer a smile of his own, although it didn’t feel as real as Roman’s. It was a good idea, it would probably help but there was still a Wizard to deal with. For the first time, he considered the possibility that this hadn’t been an accident or mishap on Roman’s part. What if this was some plot by a malicious element of Thomas’ mind, if there was a real enemy here? If this was all a plan. What if this was a trap?

Nobody commented on the falseness of his smile and so he felt as though he had gotten away with it. Virgil pushed away the thought with all his resolve that he had only gotten away with it because none of them knew him well enough to know the difference between them.

He wasn’t going down that road. Despite the fact he had already done so. 

Bree started to move himself and Roman once more. With a soft click of his tongue, Virgil gently urged Hwin on, following the other two as they turned to the south, breaking away from the trail and following the treeline. For a brief moment there was silence, Virgil turning over his thoughts in his head, running around in circles and not coming up with any sort of real idea or plan.

“So... did I change things in this world so that Bree and Hwin can talk?” Roman asked 

“Uh...” Virgil shrugged helplessly, unsure exactly what to say. It could be dangerous if he admitted the kind of power that Roman actually possessed when he was without his memories - especially if he learnt what Virgil really was - but then again, there could be a danger if he denied Roman had done that. There was the possibility that Roman could make all sorts of things by accident. He didn’t know which was the safer option, so he went with the one that felt as though it was right. 

“I think so. You have the power to control everything in this world, you’re Creativity after all. You made all of this because Thomas is deeply involved in the production of a play set in this world and that has pretty much swallowed up all his thoughts and energy. You wanted to be able to play too.” 

“Everything?” Roman asked, eyebrow lifting in disbelief. “Surely not _everything_ Virgil. There has got to be a line?”

That was another thing that was all wrong, the easy way in which he used his name and never once seemed to even consider coming up with any nicknames of his own. Their relationship started with nicknames, even if they had been hurtful ones a lot of the time. It had still been something to connect them, something that only they really shared and a small part of Virgil had actually enjoyed them, no matter how mean they became.

During those cold, lonely years, he would lie in bed late at night and pull those words close to him and lie to himself, pretending that they were inside jokes, that they were proof of comradely because it was something only the two of them did, instead of facing the sharp reality that Roman never needed to try and hurt Logan or Patton. Virgil lied to himself a lot back then, because it had seemed the only way to survive but he knew better now. Roman hadn’t meant those nicknames affectionately but that was okay because they had both grown since then and Roman had even apologise for them. Virgil in turn, admitted that he hadn’t really hated them and so they had been resurrected in a new form. 

He exhaled, forcing a long breath of air out through his mouth, trying to focus back on the matter at hand, watching as it shifted into visible vapour, pale smoke curling from his lips like the Dragon Witch of old. Roman probably didn’t remember her either. 

“Everything,” Virgil assured him, letting another faint, slightly fake smile curl up on his lips. “Just... don’t think of the Stay Puft Man or anything like that okay?”

“The what?” 

“Sorry, wow, that was dumb of me.” Part of Virgil wanted to crawl away and find some hole to just die in because what had he been thinking, quoting something at someone who had no memory? It was rude and insensitive and just the sort of thing that Anxiety was likely to do. References were not a good idea right now. Virgil exhaled again, fingers playing with the reins nervously, dancing across them.

“It’s from a movie, the heroes are told their thoughts would destroy them and you know what, when we get home, even when you have your memories back, we are watching _Ghostbusters_, okay?”

When. _When_ Roman got his memories back. Virgil said the words with such an easy confidence, an assurance that this was going to work, a belief that no matter how he sounded, he certainly didn’t feel. Perhaps by saying the words he would be able to make them come true. 

“Just don’t think of anything dangerous,” he added.

“Got it...” Roman promised, hand lifting in what once would have been a mock salute but was probably deadly serious. Virgil bit down the urge to make a comment, harshly reminding himself this wasn't the Roman he knew. He couldn't tease him as he might have done because things were different and he had to be so careful.

Not a second later an ear splitting roar cut across them, Virgil’s head whipping backwards and forwards in a frantic effort to locate the origin of the sound. The very earth seemed to tremble a little as the trees a little way ahead and to the left crashed to the ground, a monstrous beast charging out to face them. It had multiple heads from various animals jutting out from the shoulders, not to mention huge wings which only made the creature tower over them all the more. Somewhere behind it, he could hear hissing and clicking, breath catching in his throat as he watched twin tails of a snake and a scorpion lift menacingly aimed in their direction. Virgil stared in horror at the beast, face ashen pale. It looked... it looked like...

“A manticore-chimera?! You made a manticore-chimera?” Virgil shrieked, staring at the large beast in front of them and suddenly feeling very faint. How on earth were they supposed to handle something like that? 

This was so much _worse_ than the Stay Puft Man. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Roman protested, eyes wide, hands lifting and falling in a quick motion, a flurry of denial and confusion. “I wasn’t even thinking about it... I don’t think I was, I was thinking but nothing... bad. I swear.”

“Undo it! Undo it!”

“How!” Roman yelled back, his tone distinctly panicked now as the lion head roared angrily, various tails swishing back and forth. The air was alive with all manner of growls and hisses as the beast whipped itself up into a fury. 

The goat head lowered, an increasing feeling of doom washing over Virgil and he had only a split second warning before it charged, bearing down directly on them, murderous intent obvious.


	4. Royal Jelly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves and sticking with me for this trip. 
> 
> As a chapter warning, this part involves fighting, bit of blood, near death, monster death. The whole deal. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace
> 
> Comment and Kudos feed my soul, please let me know what you think of it. And now, without further ado, enjoy the chapter!

** **

### Royal Jelly

** **

Hwin leapt to the side with a whinny of pure panic as Bree took Roman in the opposite direction. The beast crashed harmlessly through empty space to headbutt the trees directly behind where they had been standing only seconds before. The horse spun, trying to keep the manticore-chiminea in its line of sight as best she could.

Virgil felt himself lose balance a split second before it happened, Hwin turning further to the right and his body just continued to slide to the left, off her and away from everyone else. He reached out to try and steady himself, knowing as he did that it was too late and there was nothing to be done. Thoughts passed through his mind in a fraction of a second, shifting from fear to acceptance as he slipped from Hwin’s back. He landed heavily on the ground, his shoulder connecting harshly against compacted snow.

“Virgil!” Roman called out, the prince completely obscured by the bulky body of the monster. There was no way to be completely sure as to if he was hurt or not but at least he was alive and uninjured enough to be able to shout without sounding hurt. He was alive and that was enough to start with. “Virgil are you okay?”

Instead of focusing its attention on where the sound had come from, like he might have guessed, the beast turned, malice filled gaze from all heads fixing themselves squarely on Virgil instead. There was an intelligence burning within those sharp little eyes, an anger and hunger that zeroed in on him and it didn’t take a genius to realise it was rearing round with the intention to attack him. 

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Virgil whispered, pushing himself into a crouching position and trying to avoid reacting to the pain that shot up his arm when he put pressure on it. Sharp and hot were the words that came to mind despite his best efforts not to think as Virgil bit down on his lip to swallow the shout of pain. At least he could still move it, but he couldn’t spare even a second to examine his arm and see how badly it was hurt. 

Not with the beast lunging forward, its scorpion stinger tail lashing out and swinging towards him, poisonous barb striking out at him. Adrenaline pumped through his blood, enabling him to roll to the side, thoughts of his injured arm completely lost under the rising tide that was the panic born out of just trying to survive. Stinger plunged deep into the snow where he had been crouched only seconds before, the beast howling with fury at missing.

Virgil didn’t stick around to wait for it to try again. He needed some cover, he needed a way to defend himself, maybe even a way to go on the offensive but most of all he needed to get it away from Roman. While the regal side might be a magnificent sword fighter, that was the Roman with all his memories intact. There was no way to know how much of that training his subconscious mind remembered, no way of knowing if he could hold his own against an enemy besides actually pitting him against it and Virgil wasn’t willing to test that. The chance that Roman might not remember was just too much of a risk for him to bear.

Weapon, weapon, weapon, he needed some kind of weapon, thoughts looping around in his mind as he raced through the trees, feet crunching heavily against the snow. There was no way to be stealthy when running through such a substance and even if by some miracle he could have found a way to be quiet, the footprints he was leaving in his wake were more than enough to make sure it could track him.

Virgil didn’t dare look behind him to see how close the beast was - he could hear its cries as it chased him through the trees, hot on his tail. It was closer than he would have liked but far enough away that it hadn’t managed to hit him yet and if nothing else, the trees seemed to be hindering its progress enough. As if in reply to his silent thoughts, the beast roared again, a heavy thud sounding as it collided with one of the larger trees, the force sending the whole trunk crashing to the ground somewhere to the side of him. The smack as the whole tree hit the forest floor seemed to echo for miles, filling his ears so for a moment he couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat. 

Oh God, he was going to die. It was growing more angry by the second, and more likely to take that anger out on him as a result. He was going to die running away from an insane beast that had no business being here in the first place because even without his memories, Roman couldn’t keep his own damn imagination under control. 

At least when it was following him, it wasn’t attacking Roman. 

A small mercy and he knew this wasn’t Roman’s fault, not really. Which was less of a small mercy since it didn’t actually change anything about what was happening. He couldn’t understand how Roman could have conjured up such a malicious beast. If Logan was here - and Virgil was so thankful that he wasn’t - he would have probably questioned that line of thought, the image bringing a small, barely there smile to his face. He knew of course, that Roman had the power and so functionally could create such a monster, but then not every thought and question was a literal one. 

How could he create something that was such a threat when he had no desire to? When he was better than this? When he claimed to not have been thinking anything negative in the first place? Not that it mattered because the beast was here and it was not going away anytime soon. Not unless they could somehow manage to defeat that beast, in which case Virgil needed a weapon. 

Virgil dived behind a particularly large snow drift, hand lifting to press against his chest, as though he could physically keep his heart from bursting out, it was beating so fast. It was a terrible hiding place because his footprints would lead the beast right to him but Virgil couldn’t run any further, not this second. His heart felt as though it was about to explode, his lungs burning harshly as he breathed, each lungful a battle to get in and then out of his body. His back was freezing, pressed tight against the snow, the white flakes no doubt mixing with his hair to chill his head even further. 

He glanced around wildly, hoping against hope that there might be something here, something he could use to defend himself. Stopping had been the only possible choice but stopping meant that the beast was going to catch up to him. The second Virgil moved from behind this snow drift he was dead, and remaining here would merely give him an extra few seconds before more death.

The only thing within arm’s reach was a tree branch, about as long as his arm. As tempting as it was to imagine himself swinging it at the manticore-chimera, Virgil was a pessimist more than anything. He knew it would just connect against the hide of the beast and then bounce off, probably breaking apart in his hand as it went. This is really not how he wanted this day to go, his eyes closing for a moment in frustration. A few feet away from him, the lion head of the beast gave another howl, the noise making him flinch, eyes snapping back open.

A whisper of... _something_, in the air around him made him look down, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he did. 

Pale gold, barely there smoke curled around the loose branch at his feet, the wood shifting, elongating as it changed it shape. It stretched out, curling a little at the edges as it both flattened and sharpened. Where moments ago there had been a simple wooden stick, there now lay a sword. It had a few purple stones set into the hilt of the blade, all of inlaid with elegant gold patterns picked out against the darker metal of the rest of the blade. Not even Virgil could mistake this sign, it was clearly meant for him. 

Finally. 

“Thank you Roman,” Virgil mumbled, lifting the sword cautiously and testing the weight. It fit perfectly in his hand, as if it had been made for him. Which clearly, it had and at least Roman had worked out how to do that if nothing else. Maybe there could be a way out of this after all and while he wouldn’t be able to take the beast head on, he might not need to. A few blows might be enough to destabilize it enough for it to vanish again, and Virgil doubted Roman had the knowledge needed to create something that can stand up to an actual attack. Assuming Virgil didn’t die trying to attack it. 

Okay. He could do this. Virgil took a deep breath, trying to centre himself, both hands wrapped tightly around the handle of the blade. The heavy footsteps of the beast grew closer and closer, the creature moving in for the kill. He could do this. On the count of three. One. Two. Th-

“Halt, foul beast!”

Virgil felt the red in his face from the running drain away once more, leaving him pale. No. Roman. He shouldn’t be here, he couldn’t be here. Virgil ran into the woods in order to lure the beast away from his friend, not have the reckless idiot chase after them both. That was just like him. 

Wings flapped, Virgil tilting his head up a little, peering up through the snow towards the sky. Not that he could make out much of the sky with how thick the canopy was. Or the giant feathered wings which towered over his little hiding spot, and the beast had to be on literally the other side of the snow now. It wouldn’t even have needed to move around to attack him, it could have stabbed him right through the snow drift.

If it hadn’t been for Roman distracting it, Virgil would probably be dead right now. Or at dead as a Side could be, which wasn’t permanent but was incredibly painful and not something Virgil wasn’t keen on going through again any time soon. That didn’t mean he wanted to let Roman experience it either however and he was not going to let the creative side suffer that kind of pain, not today, not ever. 

The wings spun, letting him know that the beast was turning, Virgil unable to do anything but stare upward in horror as first a snake and scorpion tail swung across his little snowy hideout, just to ram the point home. Not that it was looking at attacking him anymore. No, it had decided to target Roman instead, Virgil forcing his frozen feeling limbs to move. He turned slowly, shifting along the snow to be able to watch the scene in front of him.

The manticore-chimera focused on Roman, lion head snapping and snarling. It lashed out, claws raking in thin air as it tried to cut deep, the prince avoiding the wickedly sharp blades in the nick of time. The beast reared back, whole body tense as it attempted to attack once more. 

“Roman, look out!” Virgil screamed, the scorpion tail thudding into a tree directly beside the prince, missing his head by mere inches. He couldn’t just stand there while Roman was being attacked, the other side needed some help. Virgil moved without thinking, darting out from behind the snow, sword held high. With a strength that Virgil hadn’t even realised he possessed, he lashed out, stabbing deep into the flank of the beast. 

Pain filled screams rang out, shrieks of agony as the beast tried to turn, narrow eyes trying to search out Virgil once more. He dived back behind the nearest tree, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as the beast lashed out. Branches crumbled under the onslaught of claws raking across it, bark and leaves snapping away and fluttering down to the ground. Virgil didn’t want to think what sort of damage the claws could do if it was a person they were slashing. So of course, his mind started to instantly fill with the sounds and scents of such a thing, how bright and horrific the blood would be against the white of the snow. Virgil didn’t want to die here, the anxious side swallowing down a whimper of fear as the tree he was hiding behind started to creak and groan under the brutal attack. 

Roman took advantage of the distraction to stab deep with his own sword, blade slicing in from bind. It screamed again, maddened by the scent of its own blood, body thrashing wildly. 

He moved, half stumbling against the snow banks as he found a new tree to hide behind. The one he had originally used was almost completely cut through near the base of the trunk, wild and deep gashes a lasting reminder of what the manticore-chimera could do to either of them if it managed to get them in its grasp. 

Sword felt heavy in his hands, wanting to drag him down, to just stop. Virgil couldn’t allow himself to stop though, couldn’t just stand there, not now the beast was focused once more on his friend. It’s scream sounded even shriller than before, the beast lashing out without any apparent thought or plan. All it seemed to want to do now was cause damage, the scent of its blood rank and almost overpowering. With so much spilt, he wouldn’t be able to tell if Roman got hurt. 

That fear focused his mind, gave him the strength he needed to step back into the fight, sword this time slicing along the scorpion tail. The manticore-chimera threw back all its heads to howl in pain at attack, Roman choosing that moment to strike. He darted forward, ignoring Virgil’s cry of panic, blade sinking all the way down to its hilt as he plunged it deep into the base of the throat of the goat head. The manticore-chimera finally collapsed to the ground in a flurry of screams and feathers, its body contorting harshly. 

There were a few moments of nothing but twitching from the form before it simply dissolved, melting away as though made of snow and back to the snow it had gone. Leaving them alone with only an empty space and memories of what had just happened. 

Virgil panted heavily, his heart racing as he tried to convince his body that the threat was over and that they were all safe. It helped to see Roman come closer, almost bouncing over the snow, looking completely unharmed.

“I’ve got it,” Roman announced, a brilliant grin on his face, looking completely unphased by the battle they had just survived. “You must be Thomas’ Protection.”

“Nice,” Virgil snorted, pushing away the twinge of pain, of hurt and he was doing this all wrong. He should have been upfront with Roman in the first place, should have just told him what he was and faced the fact that the other side might hate him for it. At least he wouldn’t have him guessing such ridiculous things and Roman’s first guess was so wrong. Virgil couldn’t understand how he could look at him and see such a good trait, such an amazing positive light trait.

If anyone was Thomas’ Protection, it had to be Roman. Sure, Virgil had always tried to protect but he knew it had rarely been in the right way and despite his very best intentions, it rarely come out right. He shook his head, trying to will thoughts away. 

“I’m not that Princey. Not even close.”

“Ah well... I’ll get it right next time... Virgil.” 

“You can use nicknames you know,” Virgil blurted out, unable to stop himself. Empty hand lifted, slapping it over his mouth but it was too late and the dreaded words had been said, floating in the air around them.

“What?” Roman looked confused more than anything else, although Virgil wasn’t sure if that was because of his words or because of the way his hand appeared to act on its own accord and try and cover his mouth up. 

Virgil shrugged a little, trying to act casual and not slink away in embarrassment as he forced his hand away from his mouth.

“It’s just... sorry forget it.”

“No, tell me. Please.” Roman looked so endearingly pleading as he asked, stepping closer and really that just wasn’t fair. How was Virgil supposed to say no to him when he looked like that? “I want to learn who I was and who you are to me.”

“I... it’s just you don’t really use my name all that much?” It came out sounding far more like a question than Virgil had intended, as though even he didn’t really know what was being said. He cringed a little and forced himself to continue, words spilling over themselves in their haste to be said.

“You use nicknames a lot instead, it is sort of our thing? So it... I mean. You keep coming up with new nicknames for me, sometimes you reuse them but you tend to call me nicknames instead of my name.”

“Nicknames? Oh we must have been close friends then.” Roman looked delighted by his assumption, as though he could imagine no better past for himself than to have been friends with Virgil. Another cut into his heart, another wound laced against it because for some strange reason Roman seemed to want to be friends with him and Virgil was too afraid to even admit what trait he represented in Thomas’ mind. What sort of friend kept something as huge and as important as that from another? 

“Yeah... sure... let’s go with that.” It wasn’t _completely_ wrong, and they had certainly been close. Bound together by their shared antagonistic view of each other and as much as Virgil would like to pretend otherwise he knew he was as much at fault as to the state of their relationship growing up as Roman had been. Probably more at fault really because he could have made more of an effort. 

He liked to hope they were friends now and that was close enough right? In the days leading up to Roman’s memory loss Virgil would have considered them friends and they had hung out together outside of working without actually bickering too much. Admittedly, Virgil had spent most of that time on edge, terrified he might say or do the wrong thing and destroy this peace they had created but still, they had done things friends were supposed to do. 

Friends. He and Roman were friends. 

That was the truth, although it was far more complicated and there wasn’t any time to really go into it. Virgil gave a soft little cough, looking around helplessly for something to change the subject with. Hwin softly moved over to them, the horse having wisely avoided most of the battle. That was his sort of horse, someone who wasn’t reckless. 

“Nice sword,” Roman commented after a long moment, nodding his head towards the blade held loosely by his side. Virgil had almost forgotten he was still holding the blade, and thank goodness he hadn’t tried to cover his mouth with _that_ hand instead. That would have been unpleasant to say the least. 

“Needs a little... something though.” 

He clicked his fingers, Virgil feeling a new weight settle around his hips as Roman tested his powers, letting himself learn more of what he was capable of. Looking down, he could see a dark leather belt around him, a black and purple sheath at his side for his weapon. It was a little more basic than the sword itself as if Roman had tired himself out by making that and now he didn't have the energy to match it perfectly. The sheath was still beautiful though, and so much more than anything he might have been able to conjure up.

Virgil couldn’t help but roll his eyes and it seemed as though some things were constants in all versions of Roman. His need for praise being one of them but Virgil could hardly deny him a few words of encouragement, not after everything that had happened. After all, the sword had saved them both.

“You’re getting pretty good at this,” Virgil admitted, carefully slotting the weapon into the new sheath, the weight feeling a little odd on his right hip but he was sure he would get used to it. “Thanks.”

Roman looked strangely bashful, a hint of a blush colouring his cheeks and Virgil realised that this was probably the first time that he remembered anyone complimenting or thanking him. The first time someone said something really nice and he had the misfortune for it to come from Virgil. 

“It’s just a sheath, it's nothing really,” Roman said after a moment, still looking uncharacteristically embarrassed by the praise. “Come on, Bree says we still have a bit of a ride ahead of us.”

“You got it Princey.” Virgil offered him a mock salute as he swing back onto Hwin’s back, giving Roman a genuine smile as the prince nudged Bree on, letting him lead the way. 

A sudden chill swept over him, a cold that had nothing to do with the freezing cold temperatures and everything to do with his own anxiety, his own nerves, screaming at him to turn around. Head whipped round, watching the trees behind them, the messed up snow from where they had fought and the large mark from where the beast had fallen before dissolving back into the Imagination. 

There was nothing there, nothing out of the ordinary that he could see and yet still his anxiety was hissing for him to look harder, longer. For him to _focus_ on what wasn’t there because something important wasn’t there. With a sigh, Virgil started to turn away, to focus back on the task at hand. A blink and snow moved, a shift out of the corner of his eye that had his nerves yelling once more.

Virgil squinted, staring back into the treeline, trying to make out the shape once more and for a second, he could have sworn that he had seen... something. Someone. White against white, a barely there outline but an outline nevertheless. He stared and stared but nothing else moved, a stillness that only made him more ill at ease. It was unnatural how still everything was and yet without anything for him to zero in on, there was nothing he could do and no way to calm his nerves.

“Hey my Shadow Knight, you coming?” Roman called from further along the trail. Not one of his best but it was an attempt at a nickname nevertheless and Virgil could appreciate that. 

“Coming,” he called back, giving a soft sigh as he set off. The itch of being watched continued as they travelled but no matter how hard Virgil looked he could never actually spot someone. In fact, he couldn't spot any other signs of life, that unnatural stillness continuing, as if the four of them were the only beings alive in this world. It was as though _Narnia_ itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next blow to land.

“Here we are,” Bree announced suddenly, head jerking up and down, long mane flowing gracefully with the movement. Virgil looked around, taking in the large, ornate sledge that was just abandoned in the snow. It was a good hundred or so feet away from the treeline they had been following, standing out against the white snow. Gold, black and red were painted all over it, the rich tones somehow surviving the endless snow. 

As Virgil watched, white flakes landed on the sledge only to instantly melt away as though the item was hot to the touch. Imagination magic at its finest, ensuring that objects of importance survived as they were meant to be seen, laws of reality be damned. There were no footprints leading away from it but then with the constant falling snow that was perhaps to be expected. What was strange was the fact that it had been abandoned at all, that whoever had been using it had gone to the effort of releasing the creatures instead of just riding away. As if that person had wanted it to be found like this. 

Virgil had a _very_ bad feeling about this.

They approached it cautiously, Virgil constantly glancing around as they did, half expecting some kind of trap to swing down on them. Nothing happened however, nothing leapt out at them, no ropes and netting fell on them. Instead, they simply stopped beside the large sledge that seemed all the world to be exactly what it first seemed. Utterly abandoned. 

Both swung down from Bree and Hwin, crossing the final few paces on foot, the two horses murmuring quietly to each other. 

Inside laid a thick black fur blanket, the sort the looked super soft and then somehow managed to be even more comfortable than you expected. Virgil’s fingers itched to touch it, to wrap it around himself and just forget about everything else. Just hide under the covers until the sun went away, the temptation growing stronger by the moment. With a soft grunt, he pushed the thought away, moving further down the sledge to look at the back seats. 

Attention narrowed to the small jar nestled innocently enough at the back of the sledge, on its side and open, the lid a few meters away. Carefully, he reached out scooping up first the jar and then the lid, screwing it shut. Virgil had an even worse feeling about this as he turned the jar around, reading the label. 

Royal Jelly. 

Oh, _Roman_. For a moment, Virgil was silent, thumb lightly brushing over the small, chibi like drawing of Roman on the label who was grinning so brightly out of the image at him. For a moment, he simply read the description of Pomegranate and Elderberry, fit for a price. For a moment Virgil allowed himself to imagine what Roman had to be feeling, that he had been tricked by such a device. 

For a moment he let himself wonder what had been going through his mind, why he had been so... distracted? So... ill at ease that he had allowed himself this weakness? Why had he fallen for the charms of the White Wizard, when he must have known that it was dangerous. Some part of him must have known that it would be a trap. For a moment he wondered all this in silence, before Roman came up beside him, expression curious and open. Roman looked at the jar in his hand with interest, but without recognition, memory of his moment with the jelly as lost as every other memory he had.

Then the moment was over and only Virgil’s anger was left. 

“You idiot!” Virgil snarled, waving the jar around accusingly, the jelly inside bouncing a little with the movement. “You ate the White Wizard's treats!”

“I... I did? I'm guessing that's bad?”

“Very bad! Come on Roman, you would have known the story, you must have known that the White Wizard was the villain and not to eat anything he offered because it was magical and dangerous. And yet you did and it took your memories and that...” Virgil tailed off, eyes widening as a far worse thought occurred to him, something that struck him to the core. 

“What?” Roman asked, hand lifting as though to comfort Virgil before pausing, awkwardly hovering in the air, unsure if his touch would be welcome or not. They were lost, the pair of them, with no understanding of how to get back to the connections they had once shared. “What is it?” 

Virgil blinked rapidly, looking away from the hands, unable to stare at them any longer, unable to stare at Roman any longer, at the man who was and was not his friend. His family. He exhaled, something heavy and tired, feeling himself shrink a little under the weight of his own thoughts and knowledge. 

“That means that whoever did this is more than just a character in a story you originally dreamt up Princey. See... in the story, the treat just made the character more... susceptible I suppose. It was so the baddie could get information, could start to poison the mind of the person against the rest.” Virgil stared down broodingly at the jar, as though it could somehow come to life and answer his questions, could explain what exactly had happened to Roman and how to fix it. 

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right that Roman was the one who was paying for his mistakes because this had clearly been set up for Virgil and then modified when only Roman had entered the world on his own. Which proved even further that this was the work of a character that had somehow broken out of the confines Roman had originally placed around it, that it had become capable of acting independently so that it could do such a thing. 

This was supposed to be his story. He was Edmund, he was meant to eat the treat and use it as an excuse to become the enemy. He was meant to be lost and have Roman save him. Virgil didn’t know how to play the role, the other way around. He didn’t know how to drag someone back from the brink, how to keep them getting lost. He didn’t know how to be the hero because it wasn’t a role he was ever supposed to play. Just as Roman wasn’t supposed to be the bad guy.

Only... the magic hadn't done that to Roman. 

It hadn't turned him against them, it had taken him, taken all the years, all the memories and left an empty cut out in its place. It had drained Roman of everything that he was but he was still Roman in his most basic form, was still good and honest and brave. He still had the same basic starting point but it left him a shell. 

Was that better or worse than the mental image of a scowling Roman with a sword against his throat, fully prepared to attack them all?

Memories made a person. Made a side. Memories, for good and for bad made you who you were. This Roman was all wrong. Too soft, too eager to please, to unwilling to push back. He hadn't been forged in the fire of their fights and while Virgil might have often wished that their past was different, better, he had accepted that it was what it was. He couldn’t rewrite what had happened, no matter how painful some things had been. To ignore their shared past would be to ignore so much of what made up not just them, but Thomas as well and Virgil couldn’t do that. 

“Did I tell them things?” Roman’s voice broke into his brooding, so small and pain filled, yet still worried about what he might have done, how it could have hurt the others. He didn’t even remember them beyond a few stilted, awkward meetings and yet his main concern was to know if he had protected them or not. 

It reminded Virgil yet again that while this Roman wasn’t his friend as he knew him, he was still Roman. He was still his friend in some form. Memories made a person true, and this version of Roman set his anxiety flaring into high alert but he couldn’t act as if he was a stranger because the core remained intact, remained the side he knew. He couldn’t push him away as his anxiety wanted to, because Roman didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Even if he was wrong. Virgil swallowed heavily, considering the question for a moment before shaking his head. 

“I don’t think so... the treats were designed for one purpose. If I’m right and the jelly made you lose your memory then it was _designed_ to make you lose your memory... which means this was done to you on purpose... which means we’re dealing with a far more dangerous White Wizard. Its... it's possible he even knows this is the Imagination.”

The Dragon Witch was the only being Virgil knew that was aware of a world outside the realm Roman had created for her. Was this the Dragon Witch? Possible and yet Virgil didn’t think so, there was a flavour to the actions that reminded him of something beside her malice, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A half remembered memory itching in the back of his mind where he couldn’t reach but was aware enough of it for it to be incredibly annoying. 

“So what does that mean?” Roman asked after a moment, his words prodding Virgil back to focus on the conversation at hand. Virgil gave another shrug before carefully placing the half eaten jelly into a conjured up side bag for Hwin. Perhaps Logan would be able to make some sense of it if they couldn’t find any further clues as to how to fix this. If anyone would be able to get anything from it, it would be the logical side. 

Assuming of course, that he could convince Logan not to test the jelly himself and it was still labeled as Crofters which would only tempt him. Not to mention his belief in his superior attitude could easily convince him that he could test it without falling prey to its powers. It might be a bad idea to actually tell him then, but there was time to think about it, to consider his next step and if they were luck for once, perhaps they would be able to restore Roman’s memory and then Virgil wouldn’t need to make the choice one way or the other. 

Part of Virgil wanted to just destroy the jar, to hide it from Logan because then Logan would never know how deeply Roman clearly felt the lack of his own flavoured jelly. He wanted to protect him from everything, even himself. Virgil couldn’t protect him from this however. 

“It means we’re in trouble.”


	5. Campfire Tales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, we are back! I’m sorry for the delay, no real excuse. I hope you’re all still enjoying this. Time for some cuteness. And some angst. Always gotta mix the two. Comment and Kudos feed my soul, please let me know what you think of it. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Campfire Tales

** **

Night fell over the snowfields. Virgil had never been able to get a grasp on the way time worked within the Imagination. It operated on its own timetable, independent of what might be happening in the real world or even inside Thomas’ mind which followed the earth day and night cycle. Inside the Imagination, Virgil swore it just did as it pleased. Or rather, it did as Roman pleased.

No wonder Logan hated coming here. Night could last as little as five minutes or as long as a week depending on the dramatic need for it and no two cycles were the same exact length. It drove the logical side to distraction. 

Virgil could understand that. He wasn’t too keen on it either, on the way things didn’t make sense and he liked it when things made sense. It was better when they followed a pattern he could keep to because with a pattern came familiarity and with that came safety, came reassurance. Knowing it could be day or night as it pleased was not a situation likely to calm his constantly frayed nerves. It had been evening in the mindscape when they entered and yet daytime here. Virgil had no idea how long they had been travelling before the sun started to set, turning ice white into the colder blues of night. 

It caused the air to become that much colder, each exhaled breath of air curling around them like dragon smoke, creating patterns of pale white that danced in front of them. It grew steadily darker and darker with only the stars twinkling overhead offering any sort of light and making it hard for Virgil to even see that smoke and reassuring sign of life from the rest of the group. 

There was no point in trying to press ahead in darkness when they could barely see anything. Virgil and Roman used what fading light was left to gather wood as best they could and haphazardly built up a fire. The anxious side was fairly confident that if Roman focused enough he would be able to create a fire from nothing, including the flames themselves and that would save them a lot of effort. 

Then again, he was equally confident that if Roman got distracted even for a moment that he would accidentally set the whole forest ablaze and so it was probably safer to build it by hand. It gave them both something to do, something physical that kept them busy and calmed Virgil’s nerves a fraction. Just a fraction of course, but then that was normally all that he could hope for. 

The repetitive motion of collecting wood and building up a fire was almost soothing in its own right, letting Virgil think of what had happened and what they were going to do next. 

Except, neither really knew where to go or what to do next. Virgil had a vague idea of trying to find some of the pivotal locations in the story, in the hope that there might be some answers there because that was how stories worked but it was nothing more than a guess. A hope without any kind of actual foundation was a precarious thing indeed and Virgil didn’t trust something without stable support. Try as he might to remain positive, thoughts turned increasingly towards the negative end of the spectrum, as they were bound to do. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were travelling without any true destination or purpose in mind, just drawn along by a vague, ill defined hope. Another thing that was not going to keep him relaxed, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the simple pleasures of seeing the wood build up ever higher or the small burst of satisfaction when a spark finally caught alight. It kept Virgil from spiraling into a full blown panic attack about everything. 

Soon they settled around the fire, drawing comfort from its heat. Without really knowing how, Virgil found himself telling Roman tales about their past, about some of the more amusing things that they had all done. 

“I didn’t!” Roman sounded scandalised, his mouth dropping open in shock and for a moment Virgil was struck by the mental image of the Pikachu meme, a smile twitching on his lips at the thought. 

Same energy.

Except it would be pointless to point that out, to laugh with Roman about it because Roman probably had no idea what _Pokemon_ even was and would just stare blankly if Virgil tried to explain that he looked like a little yellow electric mouse. He wouldn’t laugh or be offended or come back with some clever retort of his own because he had no idea how to do any of those anymore. 

It was more than just memories connected to his own life, connected to Thomas, he had forgotten almost everything about the world in general. There didn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason to the things he did remember - he knew Bree’s name, he knew what a horse was but not what a heffalump was. Not who Virgil was and as much as Virgil tried not to let that bother him, there was still that selfish part of him that felt hurt by it. 

Roman was still staring at him like a Pikachu, waiting for an answer. 

Okay, so, Virgil couldn’t point out the similarity, but he could still tease him, could still answer him and tell him more tales about the past. He could still focus on what mattered, which was the conversation itself. 

“You did,” Virgil assured him, a warm smile, a soft little giggle slipping out as he remembered watching the video from inside Thomas’ mind. Virgil had known what they were doing even though he hadn’t been called for it, because as he had stated before, he was listening. Always listening. Just in case they took it too far and Virgil had to step in to look after them all. 

If it had been a year or so earlier, he probably would have thrown a fit about it, imagining what the fans might think about such a silly video topic. He would have kicked and screamed in a misguided effort to protect Thomas from harmless fun because he had been too wrapped up in his own worries to be able to look at it from any other point of view. It was impossible for him to imagine any other outcome bar the worse because he spent so many years on high alert, so many years dismissed by the others and so forced to scream just to be heard over the others, no matter the topic. 

Them accepting him had meant it was possible for him to relax. Not all the way of course, not all the time. But just the simple fact of knowing that they were willing to listen to him meant he could breathe for what felt like the first time in years. Just knowing that they were willing to listen to him if it was something important meant that Virgil no longer felt the need to scream at the top of his lungs about everything. 

He had learnt, had grown and tried to be better. He trusted Roman and Logan not to take it to that kind of extreme and as a result, he managed to enjoy watching the three of them relax and grow closer - even if Roman slipped into being insecure yet again. Virgil couldn’t help but wonder if they could do better now, if this loss of memories could be considered a second chance and that they could make sure to build Roman up so he didn’t have such thoughts. 

That wasn't how he should be thinking about this. 

Roman shook his head in disbelief, blissfully unaware of the thoughts that were circling around in Virgil’s mind, unaware of the dark currents that lapped at this conversation, hungry and eager to ruin everything. 

“You’re telling me I love Crofters so much I made a whole song up about it? And that Logan - _Logan_ \- actually joined in singing? I can’t picture Logan doing anything... as light as that. He doesn’t seem like the sort to sing.” 

“Never underestimate Logan’s love for Crofters. Or yours...” Virgil could feel his mood start to tip further slightly, his words reminding him of just how much Roman loved Crofters and what it had cost him. If it hadn’t been for his near obsession with that particular jelly brand or his desire to be recognised, to be loved more, because he couldn’t see how loved he already was, then they wouldn’t be camped out in the middle of nowhere without his memories. 

They would have received another mundane evening at home that Virgil treasured because of how few he actually gotten to experience over the years. They might have watched movies as a group or just hung out for a little while together before going their separate ways. They would certainly have had Family Night recently, and Virgil would have laughed in one night more than he had laughed in ten years growing up. They could have been doing all of that instead of this.

No, Virgil couldn’t focus on that, couldn’t allow himself to think like that. Not when they were finally having a good time and he was feeling relaxed somehow, almost loose, as though the events of the past few days had drained him completely but not necessarily in a bad way. He was only one wrong word or thought away from being caught in a trap and spiraling down into a bad place. 

A worse place than normal because Roman wouldn’t know what was happening. What if Virgil did or said something he didn’t mean while caught in the grip of anxiety? It didn’t excuse whatever terrible thing he might say but Roman didn’t know he was Anxiety, that he was prone to leaping to the worst conclusions without getting all the facts right. He didn’t want to say something he would regret. And he didn’t want Roman to forgive him for something he might say simply because he thought he was supposed to, because he felt he ought to without any knowledge of what Virgil was really like. 

Then again, he was always only one wrong word or thought away from that, so really it wasn’t the worst mood he had ever been in. And he was feeling a lot better as a default state of mind than he had before. 

Virgil stared across the flames at Roman, watching as sparks flew up into the sky, little flashes of gold and red which flickered against the darkness and made the whole scene feel so much more alive. It was hard, in moments like this, to remember that they were inside Thomas’ imagination, that they weren’t real boys just having a real camping trip. Virgil could almost buy into the illusion that they were just two friends hanging out, that there was no quest, nothing important beyond just spending time together. Maybe they were just family out in the wilds, around a campfire. 

Maybe this night wasn’t so bad. Maybe he was actually having fun. 

“What about some tales from when we were kids?” Roman asked eagerly, leaning forward as though afraid he might miss the answer to his question. 

Virgil felt himself tense a little, that blissful feeling of relaxation vanishing under the weight of those words, no matter how hard he reminded himself that Roman had no idea of what he was really asking. Right now, he would have given almost anything to rewind time a few moments, to go back to when he was balanced on the edge of a worry but not yet fallen in. Now he was mentally falling hard, the ground coming up to meet him and if Virgil wasn’t careful he would ruin everything.

“You want... to hear a story from when we were younger?” Virgil slowly asked, hoping against hope that Roman might change his mind.

“Yeah!” Roman nodded enthusiastically, smile bright and open and far too naive for the question he was asking. His words opened up the dark corners of Virgil’s mind once more, the areas that he tried so hard to deny existed. Virgil wanted to be Protection for Roman, he wanted to be something good. 

He wanted to act as though he belonged here and mean it. There had to be some story Virgil could think of, something he could share with Roman and they hadn’t fought every second of every day. Sometimes they had even come close to getting on with each other and more than once they even worked together. Admittedly those times were mostly because they were acting in opposition to something Logan or Patton wanted and Virgil had been able to convince Roman it wasn’t a noble plan or whatever. Once he even got Roman to help with the promise they could then spend that time watching Disney and learning the songs off by heart. That was far less risky than the late night lecture Logan had wanted to go to alone which finished at gone midnight and no way beyond walking to get home.

Of course, he couldn’t actually think of a single example now he was put on the spot, but Virgil knew there had been some good times. There had to be some good times. Beyond the time they conspired to deny Logan because Virgil didn’t think that really painted either of them in a good light, for all that he had done it to protect Thomas. It was almost a blessing that Roman couldn’t remember the expression on Logan’s face when he had lost, the utter crushed look before he turned and retreated to his bedroom, locking them out. 

He didn’t say a word to either of them for days and when he finally been convinced to speak to Roman, it was as if he had blanked those days from his memory. Virgil tried once to bring it up, to explain his reasoning to Logan because back then he nurtured the faint hope that he and Logic might have been able to get on, that Logic at least might understand where Anxiety was coming from. Logan cut him dead and changed the subject with one icy look and a handful of words. 

Virgil hadn’t tried to make friends with him for years after that, not until Logan admitted that he didn’t mind his company. Only then had Virgil dared to try again, cautiously reaching out to try and forge some kind of relationship with the logical side. 

They never talked about that day. Perhaps they should have done because Virgil had always been left with the impression that both blamed him and him alone for that night and the damage it had done to their relationships. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Roman acted differently around him after that, as though worried about the influence that Anxiety had been able to inflict on him, worried about the control he seemed to have when he wanted. 

Or else worried that maybe Anxiety wasn’t the clear cut villain he always believed him to be and that perhaps he should re-examine his own thinking but that would imply that he had been wrong and they couldn’t have that.

Virgil didn’t blame Roman for the past. At least, not really. He could see why Roman acted the way in which he did, a perspective granted with distance. He knew he tried to act in a scary fashion on purpose, he knew that while they might have painted him the villain, Virgil had willingly embraced the role as the only way he knew how to help. He tried to scare them all the time on purpose. He was to blame for how they grew up, just as much as Roman and the others had been. More so perhaps, because he had never been happy with where he was. He had never been content but always yearning for that added space, that thing always out of reach. 

He had that now, he was a member of the family and the circle he always stared at and imagined being a part of had expanded to include him with almost no effort at all. Sometimes, he can allow himself to forget that it had ever been any other way. 

Sometimes it still hurt of course, moments like this when memories of the more unpleasant past were dragged to the surface but on the whole, Virgil learned to live with it. They all apologised in their own way, and they were all trying to be better. He had forgiven them and Virgil meant it, but he couldn’t always quite convince his heart to not feel the hurt from the wounds. Virgil didn’t want to hurt anymore, not tonight at least, when the focus is meant to be on protecting Roman and making sure he was feeling good.

Except Virgil still couldn’t think of a single example to keep Roman happy.

“Don’t sit too close to the fire, you might burn yourself,” Virgil warned after a moment, changing the subject as Roman shifted, moving ever so slightly closer. Probably not near enough to actually burn himself or worse, catch fire, but all it would take would be one little spurt of flame getting too close for something terrible to happen. Virgil wasn’t going to let anything happen to the prince. 

Roman tilted his head to the side, fringe falling across his face a little. It cast shadows where before there had been none, his expression thoughtful as he watched him. It made Virgil want to fidget slightly but he forced himself to remain still, to meet his gaze steadily and not reveal how uncomfortable he was feeling.

“Caution,” Roman announced after a short pause, one finger tapping against his chin. “You’re Thomas’ Caution right?” 

“No,” Virgil replied, his smile sad. Another guess, another one that was still so good. Virgil had done nothing but scream and yell, moan and warn Roman about everything and anything. He had pointed out every single flaw, had insulted him for falling for a trick that had apparently been designed specifically to trick him, and still Roman didn’t hate him. All Virgil had done was nag him about something, judge him about something else and yet Roman seemed able to look past that and to get something good out of it.

Virgil didn’t understand it at all, but it was nice to pretend, even if only for a split second and within his own head, that he might be one of those guesses. 

“Oh well. Next time.” Roman seemed more resigned about being wrong than upset, giving a little shrug before lying back on one of the blankets he had conjured up. His head was cushioned by his arms as he stared up at the sky, his previous question apparently forgotten. Virgil couldn’t help but breathe a soft sigh of relief at that and the minefield they managed to avoid for the moment. He debated lying down himself, trying to get some rest before the sun rose again but even as he considered it, Virgil knew his own anxieties would never allow him to rest. 

Could they both afford to sleep though? Who knew what manner of foul beast might slither its way into camp during the night while they had their guard down and attack them. There was no way to know how long the night would last either and so they couldn’t split it evenly. Perhaps he could wake Roman after a few hours and get him to keep watch. That sounded like the best plan, because it gave Roman chance to rest and he got to work out some of his worries by watching over him. 

“Do you think I will ever remember?” Roman’s voice was soft, almost lost amongst the flickering and crackling of the fire as it burnt its way through the wood. He was still staring up at the sky when Virgil looked over, lips pushed together into a little pout. Perhaps it was the distance, or the smoke that wanted to get in his eyes and blur his vision, but for a moment he would have sworn that Roman’s eyes were glassy, filled with unshed tears that spoke of a pain that his voice was able to hide. 

Virgil wanted to say yes. He so badly wanted to say of course he would, that this adventure would result in the desired outcome. He wanted to remind him that Patton and Logan were still working on trying to come up with a solution. If nothing else, Virgil knew that they would never stop working on it until they had come up with some kind of answer, some way to fix this and he should point that out. The more rational part of him knew that while they might never give up, it was completely possible that they would be forced to put it on the back burner so to speak, for the lost memories to gradually become something they worked on between projects. 

Thomas needed them. As much as it pained Virgil to think otherwise, he knew that none of them were as important as their host. He loved Thomas so much to do anything that would put him as second place. They all loved Thomas more than anything else and if he needed to work on a video or a project that would take up almost all of their time, they would do it. Even Roman would do it in this state Virgil felt, and he wished now that they had reintroduced him to their host so he understood just how wonderful Thomas was. 

But they would still keep trying. And there might be something here they could use to help him. Maybe they would find the White Wizard and it would turn out the guy wasn't some super villain and would simply give them the cure without any further fighting. Maybe it would just wear off and for all they knew, Roman could wake up tomorrow and have his memories restored completely. Doubtful but it wasn’t completely impossible. He had no idea how the magic in this place worked and what rules it followed. 

Virgil couldn’t really say any of that though. He couldn’t bring himself to lie and being optimistic to the point of wilful blindness was lying. There was no way to be sure of anything and although he hoped they would find an answer, they hadn’t had any luck so far. Who was to say that they would tomorrow? Or ever?

“And a truckload of bubba gump shrimp,” Virgil sang softly in lieu of answering one way or another. If nothing else, when - or if - Roman regained his memories, he would have the pleasure of knowing that Virgil had sung that line willingly. It was the least he could do and it was far easier to sing the line here, with only Roman for company than have to sing it not only in front of Thomas and the others but on camera where thousands of people could watch him mess up.

Roman gave a short, bark like laugh, pushing himself up on his elbows to look over at Virgil. His expression was open and amused. There was no sense of Roman hiding his feelings away, not like he had done in the past when he had tried to hide his hurting heart or his insecurities. He seemed more trusting here and it made Virgil’s heart hurt, made it ache in a completely different way. This was who Roman had originally been, before the world had tried to destroy him. 

“What was that?”

“A line from a song you came up with for me to sing... even if you don’t remember Ro, it won’t be the end of the world. You’re still you and there is a lot you can learn again. I mean we will try, of course we will and we will never stop... but you’re still you, even without them. You’re still the prince. You’re still our family and we all still... care.” The word love got stuck in his throat, Virgil swallowing a few times as though he could push down that throat and clear the obstruction from his throat. 

He might love all of them so much but Virgil was nowhere near ready to actually verbalise that thought out loud. It scared him sometimes, how easily he had grown to love all of them, how for years he had adored them without once expecting to get anything back. Certainly not the outpouring of love that he was given, the easy way in which all of them, including Thomas, including Roman, had let him into their hearts. He just wasn’t ready to tell them how much that meant to him and how he returned those feelings a thousandfold. 

It was an understood thing and that was about as far as Virgil was willing to take it. 

“And there are the videos too I guess!” Roman was trying to appear upbeat about the possibility of remaining like this, searching for something positive. 

“Yeah... the videos...” Virgil couldn’t help but trail off as he thought of them, and how they would give Roman a real window into the different dynamics across the whole mindscape. They would show how all of them had grown over the few years since Thomas had started making them which was good... but it also meant that he would see what Virgil was really like. Which was bad. 

If there was a chance that Roman might not remember then he was going to go into those videos blind. He might not like what he saw. After all, Virgil had been trying to scare them at first. Virgil had been a terrible side, a terrible person in some of those earlier videos and he shuddered to think what Roman might think when he saw Virgil deliberately trying to scare them, bringing up bad memories, bad thoughts on purpose. 

It was who he had been at the time and Virgil couldn’t shy away from that fact. He wouldn’t shy away from it, but at the same time, he didn’t know if he was strong enough to handle Roman looking at him with fear, hate or distrust again. Not after he had gotten greedy and used to the easy affection offered to him. Going back into the cold would be too much of a shock to his system and Virgil knew he wasn’t brave enough to be able to deal with that. 

“You know... I didn’t... I didn’t really grow up with the rest of you. I mean, I wasn’t as close to the rest of you.” Words were hesitantly said, Virgil feeling as though he was stumbling along and having to relearn every single word as he said them. He swallowed nervously, a faint tick in his jaw as he tried to find the right words to say his thoughts, to somehow explain everything they had been and everything they now were. 

“I mean... I had a different childhood. It’s why I don’t really have any stories I could tell you, you’d have to ask Patton or Logan for those and the videos... well...” 

Virgil had his own sort of not quite there family when he was younger. Well, he had one person at least, the only person that ever acted as though he had cared about a young Anxiety, who had looked out for him, had helped him get through some of the worst days of his young life. He often helped Virgil practise his lines, his arguments before letting him rise up to face the others on his own, the other favouring a more shadowy approach. He had never seen the point of arguing in person when they would simply dismiss and belittle him. Far easier, he always maintained, to just sneak around in secret and do what had to be done. The ends, to him, would always justify the means. 

Virgil had never liked doing that, which had created one of the first cracks within their relationship, a pressure point that over time would just keep building and building until the eruption had been inescapable and terrible.

It was... complicated. Virgil had never known how to be part of a family growing up and although his would be brother had tried his best, it was clear that the other side had no idea how to act like a family member either.

They had just been two idiots fumbling along in the dark and trying to do their best for each other. Well, Virgil had thought he had been trying to do his best for... for Deceit, had thought they were a team, that they worked together, looked out for each other above almost everything else - aside from Thomas himself of course. It had been a shock to learn that Deceit apparently didn't feel the same.

Even saying his name in his head felt odd, stilted and unnatural. He hadn't allowed himself to even think his name for years before the snake skinned side snuck his way into a video. For many of those years Virgil had simply done his best to pretend that the other side didn’t exist, that they had never been as close with the King of Lies as he had been. 

It made it hard at times, after he had made his choice and was surrounded by people who seemed to hate him, when all he could do was lie alone in his cold bed and pretend that there was no other way and that he didn’t miss the warm hugs and whispered honeyed lies which would grant a degree of comfort in the moment. Virgil couldn’t go back though, it would mean admitting he was giving up and turning his back on the Light Sides because he knew he couldn’t keep shifting from side to side. Virgil had to draw on his stubbornness, on his refusal to be moved and just stick it out because he had nowhere else to go.

It was easier to avoid a conflict of loyalties when he denied one set of loyalties existed after all.

Once upon a time they had been close, close enough to give each other nicknames, to call each other big and little brother. Once, Virgil would have laughed at the idea that he might want to spend time with Creativity over Deceit. Once, he would have gone running to him when he had suffered a nightmare or panic attack. 

Until they had fought, of course, until Virgil had let his pitiful - at the time - desire to be part of the Light Sides world overwhelm his proper and right desire to stay in the dark with Deceit. Who made it very clear that he had no intention of trying to ally himself with the Light Sides, even if it was for the good of Thomas and how could he think that? 

Hiding only made things worse and he couldn’t help Thomas the way that Thomas needed to be helped if they kept cloaking their intentions behind shadows and word play. They wanted to keep Thomas safe and Virgil would do anything to achieve that goal, even things he hated. It was worth taking a deal with people they didn’t like for Thomas’ sake. Virgil knew he was lucky in that they eventually grew to like him and even on his worst days he was able to comfort himself with the thought that they tolerated him at least.

It could have so easily gone the other way after all and very nearly did when he had felt it all too much and had chosen to duck out rather than crawl back to the Dark Sides.

Even now, he wasn’t really sure how he felt about Deceit, a strange churning of conflicting emotions that tore at his psyche, pulling him this way and that. Lying had always made him feel sick, had set his own anxieties off, which had made their friendship a strange thing even from the start. Somehow it had worked though, and for so many years it had been good, had been the cornerstone of Virgil’s life. 

Until the fight. Until Deceit screamed exactly what he felt about Virgil, exactly how much he hated him and how pathetic he actually considered Anxiety. Just thinking about that fight made the breath catch painfully in his throat, made him want to cry and he didn’t cry. He wasn’t the sort to cry, at least not in front of other people. He wouldn’t show that kind of weakness. 

Virgil looked down for a moment, finding the zipper on his sleeve, awkwardly playing with it. There was far too much going on in his head for Virgil to actually say any of it and he needed a lot longer than one night to explain to Roman their whole past, both his and Deceit’s and then his and Roman’s. He couldn’t even think about how to start explaining everything that led up to the first video Virgil appeared in and why he had acted the way he had done.

There was no excuse for his behaviour and Virgil wouldn’t seek to create one. Just an explanation but even that felt tied up with so much weight behind it, so much that he didn’t know where to start. Virgil exhaled, feeling the air against his teeth as he did so. 

“If... when you watch them, just... just remember that’s not who I am anymore, okay?” 

“You make it sound as though you were a villain or something,” Roman complained. There was an odd expression on Roman's face as he said those words, Virgil feeling a fluttering of panic in his chest, a brief terror that maybe he had remembered something. Maybe he hated him again.

It didn't seem like a bad expression though, but more of a questioning one, as though Roman was on the _cusp_ of remembering something and that... that really didn’t help with Virgil’s anxiety but perhaps he could handle being on the edge of remembering. That meant that there was still a chance for Virgil to create a better impression, to convince Roman not to hate him. 

“Try and get some sleep okay Roman? It will probably be another long day tomorrow. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.” 

Virgil pulled his knees up tight against his chest, staring deep into the heart of the fire as Roman sighed in turn, muttering some agreement before lying back down again. 

Tomorrow would be another day and he would face that challenge when it dawned.


	6. Virgil's Role

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again. One of my more favorite chapters in this story, because it is all about the characters and friendship. And Roman finally starts to get some answers, as well as the plot moving forward at last! I hope all enjoy, and thank you so much to my wonderful beta, Kat. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos keep me going, please validate my existence if you enjoyed this. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Virgil’s Role

** **

Roman had always been a morning person, obnoxiously so.

When Virgil first started spending real time around the Light Sides, he took one look at Roman with his ridiculously perfect hair and perfectly pressed tunic and thought that if nothing else, at least Creativity wouldn’t bother him in the early mornings. There was no way he would be the sort to be up early because it had to take him a long time to get ready and put his ‘face’ on for the world. It meant that he wouldn’t be bothered by him because mornings were not Virgil’s favorite time of day. 

Mornings were hideous beasts designed by an uncaring universe to make you pay for your own insomnia and anxiety attacks of the night before. He was not a morning person, not a fan of them and would rarely shuffle begrudgingly out of his room before the time had turned into double digits. With Roman, he had thought he had found one less enemy for that particular battle and that it was Patton or Logan he would have to reserve his morning hate for.

Patton because he assumed he got up early to cook - he certainly got up to cook, and some part of Virgil knew that it wasn't super early but it was still too early for him. It would always be too early for him. Logan, he had worried would be someone who stuck to a perfect sleep schedule, early to bed, early to rise. After all he lectured Thomas on it often enough, using any excuse to remind him that he should be sleeping.

It seemed as though Thomas’ logic rarely liked to practice what he preached however and Virgil had lost count of the number of times he came across Logan late at night, awake when he should have been asleep. There was always some new fascinating book to read, some thrilling documentary to watch or some project to work on and never enough time in the day to do it all. Logan was nearly as bad as Virgil was for keeping unsociable hours but he never seemed to suffer the effects of sleep deprivation in the same way he did. Perhaps it was only to be expected, perhaps it was right that only Anxiety take on those negative traits but it still made it hard to handle, crawling out of bed and knowing that Logan received as little sleep as he and yet was able to keep functioning, apparently perfectly. 

Either way, he hadn't suspected that Roman would be the culprit of his disturbed mornings. 

Virgil had been _very_ wrong. Roman delighted in the beauty of a sunrise, in the wonder of dew on the grass, on the crisp bite to an early morning. He spun and danced his way through birdsong, snapping his way through countless outfit changes and generally made the early hours of the day a delight for himself and all sun loving people, and a horror for all the nightmare people. All the dark gremlins like himself that hissed and spat upon the daylight. In the worst moments, Virgil was convinced Roman would be doubly annoying, just to mess with him. 

Virgil had never had the same control that Roman had, could never make himself look perfect and hide any traces of a less than perfect night behind a single snap. It made sense of course, that Creativity would be the best at summoning and changing things on a whim, that he would be able to skip a lot of the morning routine with nothing more than a snap of his fingers and a single thought. Whereas Virgil had to really struggle to make anything new - once he had made it, it was easy to call it up, but the original creation had always been a struggle.

Creativity was not his department. At least, not good creativity. Roman had been helping him with that as best he could, had been surprisingly patient with teaching him how to harness his skills, to the extent that Virgil could almost forgive him his endless bright behaviour at seven in the morning, almost every morning.

Almost. 

Mornings were the closest Virgil had ever gotten to honestly hating Roman and wishing a violent death upon him. At least for an hour or so until he himself, was ready to face the world once more. Then it settled into low level annoyance, another little silent grumble and wish that he could tone it down a little, that he could stop rubbing his perfect existence into Virgil’s face. 

That had - and hadn’t - changed after he had been accepted. Roman still embraced the mornings with all his usual enthusiasm, still noisy sang and danced around. But he was more aware as well, more in tune with the rest of the mind. Virgil was half convinced that he had to one of his morning birds to tell him whenever Virgil suffered a particularly bad night because Roman was always a little more subdued on those mornings. He would sing but softer, later. On the worst mornings of all, he would sometimes knock on Virgil's door before opening it a crack and sliding a mug of hot chocolate into his room. 

He never said a word on those days, never sang a note - at least not anywhere that Virgil could hear and it was always easier to snatch a few hours of morning sleep after he had sipped a mug of hot chocolate. 

Virgil never worked up the courage to ask how he knew the bad from the good, because in all honesty, Virgil didn’t want to hear the answer. Either he was lucky or he was spying on him and although the calmer, rational part of him could see what a kind and thoughtful gesture that was, Virgil knew his own brain goblins. He knew how they would react to the certainty that Roman had been looking out for him and it wouldn’t be a positive reaction. It would be anger, hurt, paranoia. Disbelief that his privacy had been violated and Virgil didn’t want to feed into any of those feelings, so he simply accepted the gifts when they were given and did his best not to brood on how they had arrived. 

If there was one good thing about Roman losing his memories, it surely had to be the fact that he wouldn't embrace the mornings with such reckless enthusiasm.

Yet again, it turned out that Virgil was very wrong. 

Because, as it turned out, Roman was _still_ a morning person, even without his memories. He was also still a loud, obnoxious morning person that had no regard for anyone else that might still be sleeping, almost bouncing around the area as if he had already consumed a large amount of sugar. 

Virgil curled up further under his hoodie and briefly considered the merits of murder. 

Then he remembered he was meant to be keeping watch and sat bolt upright, hoodie sliding off and pooling in his lap. The fire had died down during the night, embers burning softly among the ash and charcoal, the faintest heat still pulsing gently from it. 

Everything still looked okay, Virgil glancing this way and that. Bree and Hwin were still settled a little way off, having lain together for warmth. Neither looked in any hurry to have to get up again and perhaps Virgil was just projecting a little but it certainly looked as though Hwin was glaring at Roman for waking them up. As for the Prince in question, he was currently humming a song as he stretched, trying to ease out stiff muscles. 

It was Disney, Virgil feeling a swell of hope rise up in him at the familiar tones of _A Whole New World_ filling the little camp site, Roman bending to collect the blanket and rolling it up. For a moment at least, he simply felt hopeful, before the annoying reality of the moment started to poke its way into his head. 

For a start, it was only humming, not singing. If his memory was back, surely he would be singing. Not to mention, if his memory was back, Virgil would have hoped that he would have risked waking him up to share the news because no matter how grumpy Virgil would have been at being woken up before he was ready, it would have vanished at the knowledge that Roman was back to his old self again. He probably didn’t have any idea of what he was humming and Virgil didn’t want to draw attention to it in case Roman stopped.

“Good morning sleeping beauty!” Roman greeted, a bright smile on his face. He carried on humming as he bent over to poke at the fire, unknowingly proving that he had no idea what he was actually humming. Roman wouldn’t be so cruel as to remember and not say anything, no matter what his doubts instantly started to whisper. Virgil knew Roman wasn’t like that, which meant he was still without them, simply making a tune up as he went.

That was good though right? That proved that there had to be something still inside of his mind from his past. The memories were there because the tune was able to slip out despite the block on them. He might not be able to find them when he tried to reach for them but at least they were there. They hadn’t been destroyed by the jelly, they hadn’t been completely removed. Virgil felt a little more optimistic this morning than he had the night before. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the song or the simple fact that he had gotten a decent night sleep and everything felt better after a couple of hours of good sleep. 

He looked down at his hoodie, still in his lap, a faint frown on his face. 

Strange, he didn’t remember taking it off and using it as a blanket. He didn’t remember being close enough to falling asleep at all. The last thing he really remembered was staring deep into the very heart of the fire, watching the colours without blinking until his eyes were watering and the world was spinning a little, colours blending together at the very edge of his vision. 

Then he was waking up and silently cursing Roman’s morning tendencies while finding himself in a makeshift bed, the blanket under him, hoodie on top of him. Virgil had thought he had been crouched a little closer to Roman as well. He was sure of it in fact, sure that those last clear memories he had been nowhere near the blanket was he was curled up on now. 

It was amazing what a lack of sleep could do to the memory, Virgil hovering between relieved his slip up hadn’t had any negative effects and worried that he had fallen asleep at all. Not to mention it had been a good sleep, one of the best he had had in a long time. That in itself was suspicious. Virgil didn’t sleep well, it was one of his defining traits. He was too anxious to ever properly unwind, to be able to convince his brain to switch off long enough to let him rest. 

Being in an unfamiliar place and wanting to watch over Roman to make sure he was safe should have only added to that inability to relax and he stayed awake for longer than a single night before. There was no reason why he should have fallen asleep at all.

Yet somehow, he had slept like a baby. 

Virgil didn’t trust it an inch but nothing was wrong about this morning, which in itself set him a little on edge. Well nothing wrong aside from the fact he had slept in the Imagination and Roman still didn’t know who he was, but that was how he ended the previous day. Nothing had gotten worse, and if there had been some other force at work, if he had somehow been knocked out then Virgil would have expected something to be off. 

A missing horse or god forbid, something new and terrible happening to Roman. Maybe waking up somewhere new and frightening but no, he was still here, Roman was still here and everything was as it had been. It didn’t settle his nerves in the slightest. Virgil really hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it but aside from remaining on high alert - which he had planned to do anyway - there wasn’t anything he could do. Virgil could hardly insist they all stop simply because he had slept for a little while. And they couldn’t turn back, not when there was no real reason, not when they were still searching for answers.

“You could have lied you know,” Roman told him curiously, words coming out of nowhere. Virgil looked up from his hoodie to stare at him blankly, mind whirling uselessly as he tried to work out just what Roman meant. This was part of what he hated about social interactions at times. The way some people were able to seamlessly pick up the threads of previous conversations without any warning or context and expect the other person to do the same. It wasn’t that easy for Virgil, even if he did often obsessively go over conversations again and again in his mind, replaying them and imagining other outcomes. 

Sometimes, he had whole conversations and even fights with people in his mind, whipping himself up into a righteous fury to the extent that he had to remind himself that the fight had been all in his head and he wasn’t actually angry at that person at all. Despite all of that, it had never been a social skill he had been any good at and Virgil still didn’t have any idea what Roman was talking about and it must have shown because Roman sighed softly, a wistful smile on his face. He patted Bree’s flank almost absently, a thoughtful expression on his face as he seemed to try to gather his thoughts. 

“I mean I’ve worked out you’re not the most optimistic person around sure, but you could have lied about the chances of me getting my memory back or you could have lied about your role or even about your past. You could have made up any story about our childhood and I wouldn’t have known any difference.”

Virgil shrugged uncomfortably, feeling his cheeks start to burn. He could have lied and it would, in many ways, have been easier to lie. Even if Roman then found out the truth, he would have surely understood the motive behind the lie. It was important to keep Roman happy, to encourage him to try and remain optimistic, to keep fighting the good fight. All of that rubbish, all of those thoughts that should have surely said he would just lie and yet - and yet Virgil hadn’t been able to sugar coat the truth like that. It makes him feel wrong, as though he has messed up by not lying. 

Was the socially acceptable thing to do in that situation, lie? Virgil didn’t know and he hated not knowing, hated the way his palms started to feel hot, sweaty, the way his breath picked up in his chest, the doubts that raced through his mind as he second guessed himself. Virgil couldn’t stop the small scowl that graced his features, nervously jamming his hands into his pocket in a bid to try and hide the fact they were trembling ever so subtly now. 

“Yeah? So?” 

“So why didn’t you lie?” Roman asked. Just like that, putting the question out there, forcing Virgil to face something he really didn’t want to think about too deeply. There was so much he could say to that, so many answers he could give, some more detailed than others. It was a question that deserved a real answer, Virgil chewing on his bottom lip for a moment as he warred with all the possibilities before the only real response came to mind.

“I don't like lying,” Virgil said simply.

All his years of torment, of confusion, all the doubts and uncertainties that had tormented him over the years boiled down to one simple sentence that both said everything and explained nothing at all. He wasn’t the most truthful of sides sure, but that was because most of the time he allowed his cognitive distortions to get the better of him. He panicked far too easily, saw the worst in every moment and a lot of the time that led to him being convinced that something terrible had happened. A lot of the time he was wrong and although Virgil was trying to be better, he knew that he would never be good. Never be right more often than he was wrong. 

It was the price he paid for being Anxiety, for being the embodiment of all that was negative and fearful. Of course he was going to be wrong a lot of the time and really, Virgil would rather be wrong than live in a world where he was right and that was the way things worked. He would much rather be over exaggerating his fears instead of not dealing with the danger correctly. That doesn’t change the fact that he couldn’t help but believe his own worries a lot of the time. 

He wasn’t sure what sort of lie it was, if you believed it yourself. Or at least, didn’t want to question it too deeply because then you would know it was almost certainly a lie and have to react accordingly.

Logan would know of course. Logan always did.

“Honesty!” Roman exclaimed, snapping his fingers, the sudden noise making Virgil jump a little, a tiny, barely there motion. 

“They do say its the best policy,” he agreed after a short pause. Roman shook his head impatiently, one hand still resting against Bree’s side. 

“No, I mean you have to be Honesty right? That is your role within Thomas?”

Virgil flinched, those words stinging against him and he was sure that Roman hadn't meant them like that. He was sure they weren’t supposed to hurt, to lace his heart with tiny cuts that stung all the more despite their size. Virgil was many things within Thomas and many more things that he wished he could be. Honesty, was never going to be one of those aspects he could embody. No matter how hard he tried to reach that lofty goal, he was never going to be as good as he would like to be. 

He still didn't like lying.

Except he had done nothing but lie to Roman since this whole mess started. It might be nothing more than a lie of omission but that was still a lie and a particularly fiendish one at that. So much could be twisted out of a lie of omission and the right thing to do would have been honest from the get go, as Roman seemed to think he was. Virgil should have told him exactly who - what - he was. 

Roman should have been allowed to know what he was trusting to keep him safe. Roman should have been allowed to make an informed decision about the side he was relaxing about, the person he went to sleep and trusted to keep guard - not that Virgil had been able to even do that. He had set himself a simple job of staying awake for one measly little night and he hadn’t been able to do that. If he couldn’t do something as easy as that, how was he supposed to help Roman in the way he needed to be helped? Especially when he was going around lying about what he really did for Thomas. 

“Virgil? Buddy? Tall, dark and stormy? You in there?” 

Somewhere along the way, Roman had gotten really close to Virgil, a worried expression on his face and Virgil hadn’t even noticed him move. Another black mark against him and what he had wanted to do here, another piece of evidence - as if he needed another piece to prove how unworthy he was, how useless he was. 

He was going to have to be honest now. Better late than never right? 

“Roman...” Virgil trailed off, feeling his throat tighten a little as he struggles to say what he wants to say, to put into words everything he is feeling right now. Guilt perhaps most of all, guilt and shame for betraying Roman so, for being that weak that he was too afraid to repeat the past. Virgil had survived being shunned by the other side once before, why couldn’t he survive it again? 

He reached out, cold hands blindly clasping Roman's own, letting the warmth of Roman sooth him slightly, letting him grant him comfort when Virgil knew it should be the other way around. 

Selfish again. Bad again. _Dark_ again. 

“I... I'm not Honesty. Or Protection, or Concern or anything nice you might think but I swear I'm not... I'm not trying to hurt you or Thomas. I would never do anything to hurt any of you... well... not on purpose. I think. I worry. I mean. I’m scared I might hurt you even when I don’t mean to. I’m really good - or bad I should say - at doing things that could have bad outcomes. I panic easily. I just, I just want to help but I don’t really know what I’m doing. I'm not... I'm not evil.” 

_Says who?_ His mind unhelpfully whispered mockingly, taking on the exact tone he had used to say those very words to Roman when he had claimed the same thing in the Hogwarts House video. At least Roman wasn’t actually evil though.

Virgil just had to hope the same could be said of himself.

He was rambling now, switching from being unable to talk to being unable to stop, all the words coming out jumbled as he tried to explain himself, tried to justify himself and his mere existence. He wanted to do good and that had to count for something, surely. He was trying to do good, if only he could stop doing so much bad all the time.

“Virgil, it's okay, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Roman promised him, and he was still holding his hands, clasping them tight with a worried and slightly puzzled expression on his face. Virgil managed a small, watery smile at those words and how truthful they were. At how kind they were when he really didn’t deserve it. Kind, clueless Roman. Putting Virgil’s needs first as always, as though he was worth any of that.

Virgil shook his head roughly, feeling hints of tears gather in the corner of his eyes. If this is the last moment of friendship he was going to get from Roman then it wasn’t such a bad moment to end things on all things considered. He took a shallow breath, before he forced the dreaded words out. 

“I'm Thomas’ Anxiety!”

There was silence. 

A silence that his mind instantly spun to be deafening. 

Roman hated him. Roman had to hate him, there was no other explanation for it, no other reason. He had lied all this time and now it was going to be just like before, when Roman stared at him with naked dislike, when he had positioned them so clearly at opposite ends of the chessboard. Roman had never doubted that Anxiety was evil, he never once second guessed that. Not until he had been forced to see what Thomas would be like without him, not until Roman had grown to know Virgil properly and even then it had taken a lot of time and effort on both their parts. 

Why would this Roman be any different? He hadn’t even met Thomas in this state, so how could Virgil prove he was good, that he brought something useful to the mind? Virgil could feel all sorts of words tumbling around his mind, the urge to beg, to apologise - apologise for what exactly? For being created? For being who he was? Virgil didn’t pick to be Anxiety, he didn’t want up one morning and decide that there was nothing he wanted better than to spend his life making Thomas worry about every little thing that he could think of. 

Roman hated him, he had to, he hated him and everything Virgil had grown to lo-like about his life, about his relationship with the other sides, being included with their meals, their conversations, their movie nights, that was all gone because Roman wouldn’t want him there and they would pick Roman over him in a heartbeat. They had to, because Roman needed their support now more than ever and Creativity was way more important than Anxiety anyway. Virgil would need to find someway to survive the cold that was coming, the chill laying over his heart and slowly starting to freeze it.

“You’re brave, is what you are.”

What?

Whatever it was that Virgil had expected and feared Roman to say, it wasn’t that, Virgil squinting a little as he stared at Roman. The other side hadn’t pulled his hand away, hadn’t started ranting and raving about how Virgil betrayed him, tricked him by acting as though he was good when really he was just Anxiety. He was... he was smiling still. 

“What?” Confusion made him feel stupid, his brain struggling to understand the words and the meaning behind them.

Brave? _Virgil?_ He wanted to scoff at the words, to make some sarcastic comment and push away any emotion, any fluttering of his heart that wants to cling to those positive words, wants to make castles in the sky about them and fantasize about all the ways in which things could actually work for a change. He wanted to ruin the moment for the sake of his unstable emotions, to keep himself from falling apart completely if and when it all went wrong. 

It was always easier to handle something bad if he told himself it was coming anyway, if he could see the crash coming. If he could somehow work on a way to bandage up his heart before the wound even hit then maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t actually hurt so much. That was the theory anyway, but it was rarely as straightforward as that. 

He wanted to protect himself even if that meant perhaps hurting Roman. 

This Roman was far more open with his feelings though, far more expressive, far more easy to hurt, and while Virgil was confident of his ability to pick a fight and by doing so completely derail the conversation to the point that Roman forgot what they were originally talking about, Virgil didn't really want to.

Not least because it felt beyond wrong to mess with Roman in that manner, to trick him into losing a train of thought. Roman had already lost so much and even if it was relatively harmless to make him temporarily forget about a subject, it still felt like a gross violation of his trust after everything he had been through recently.

It wasn’t the only reason. It was a good reason of course, a very good reason. 

But there was also because it would hurt Roman. And no matter how much his first reaction was a selfish one that thought only of his own needs, it wasn't what he was going to do. Maybe it made him a bad person for thinking such things, but Virgil could cling to the small hope that he wasn't a completely terrible one because he might think such dark thoughts but he didn’t actually act on them.

“What...what do you mean?” Virgil asked cautiously, fighting to keep his voice as calm as he could manage, and he could do this for Roman. For a little while at least. Roman’s smile somehow grew, becoming even more blinding. He really was like a prince out of a fairy tale Virgil thought sourly. It was a wonder that they had only attracted two talking animals with Prince Charming around. His annoyance didn't last - it never could with Roman - the small little flare up fading away rapidly as he waited for Roman to reply.

“I’ve seen how you act out here. Since we travelled through the Wardrobe, have you or have you not been yourself?”

“Well...yeah...” Virgil said slowly, still not understanding where Roman was going with this. He had been acting like himself of course - his nervous, panicking, awkward, grumpy emo self. He fought with Roman and insulted him when he should have supported him. He moaned about the cold, about walking, about riding, about the lack of a plan. About nearly dying or seeing Roman killed at the claws, fangs, teeth, stinger or anything else from the manticore-chimera.

He had griped about Roman creating a giant mythical impossible beast, when all terror aside, he should have been relieved that at least he was still able to reach inside of himself to access such a basic, important part of himself. Roman might not have realised he had done it at the time or even know how he had done it, but that didn’t take away from the fact that he was still the same powerful creative urge he had always been. Not that Virgil had once told him anything like that.

“I've been a jerk since we got here, what is your point?”

“Hardly! You have protected me, looked out for me. You worked out the meaning behind the sledge. Heck, you offered to come with me in the first place, into the great unknown and knowing you are Anxiety, that must have been terrifying for you.”

“Nah, it was easy,” Virgil replied and insults would almost have been better to deal with. Virgil understood where he stood with insults, he knew how to defend himself, how to fight and hide himself away. It was easier to be strong against mean words - he had no idea how he was supposed to handle something positive. How did people deal with compliments? They felt like strange little pebbles flicked against tender areas of his body. Sharp little stings which took his breath away for a moment but left no lasting marks or even knowledge of where they had truly come from. 

“How so?” Roman asked. There was a glint in his eyes that made Virgil wary, although he couldn't quite put his finger on why it unsettled him slightly. Or even what Roman was getting at with his words. Why was he pushing the question? Why couldn’t he just drop it? Instead he poked at an open sore and demanded Virgil think about his own mental health and state of mind. 

A dangerous task at the best of times. More so right now, when Roman was as lost as the rest of them and Virgil feels so much more overprotective of him and on edge as a result. 

“Because... because you're my friend,” Virgil mumbled reluctantly. He would have rather admitted to almost anything than something... _mushy_. Why couldn’t it just be an understood thing, as it had been for so long between them all? First an understood thing that Anxiety was bad - when he wasn’t just that. Then an understood thing that he... cared for them. 

He had implied that he loved them, he had never actually said it and Virgil was more than happy for that to remain the status quo. 

Not that Roman knew any of that. 

Memory loss was so confusing to keep track of.

For Roman he was prepared to swallow his pride and admit what they really were to each other. It helped that it was just the two of them too and there was nobody else around to see his emotional weakness. They all had to be sick of seeing his emotional weakness, it came out on an almost daily - if not hourly - basis. 

“Exactly! You are willing to sacrifice your own self comfort, you are willing to put my needs above your own fears. That is the mark of friendship and of a true, brave hero. You are Anxiety, you clearly think the worst too much but so what? You also do what you think is best and right. You’re my friend and I am honoured to have you by my side.” Roman looked so earnest as he said those words, so intent and it made him almost want to cry. A good type of crying, because it was making all sorts of emotions bubble up in his chest.

Crying was still bad. Crying made him look like a loser. 

“Okay, when did you get so wise?” Virgil asked, regretting the words as soon as he said them, watching the light dim a little in Roman’s eyes, the way the shutters seemed to almost visible drop on his face, sorrow lingering there.

“Maybe I always was. Maybe I’m feeling more brave myself now, in your company, without my memories or pride to hinder me. I’m just sorry I’ve clearly never said anything like this before, I let you down Virgil. I won’t again.” Roman was still holding his hand, the other lifting to press against his heart and Virgil was struck by the bizarre feeling that the other side was making some kind of dramatic vow. 

That... wasn’t what Virgil _meant_, not really. It was wonderful to actually hear Roman say all those things, to know that he believed them. It made him feel almost worthy of the praise, of the hope that Roman was instilling in him. Maybe he did belong here, maybe he did help. But Virgil hadn’t meant to imply that Roman with memories was worse, or wrong for not saying things out loud. Virgil hadn’t said things out loud back, had never outright called him a friend before this moment. 

It had all been understood things and that was the way he was used to.

Virgil had no clue how he was going to fix this but he knew he couldn’t let Roman go on thinking there was anything wrong with the person he had been. Somehow.


	7. Homeward Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at last, back again! For some more found family fun. Who is ready to see how Roman is coping with all of this? Not to mention, who is ready for Roman to make possibly the best - worst? - choice of his day?
> 
> Comments and Kudos keep me going, please validate my existence if you enjoyed this. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Homeward Bound

** **

Roman hated to admit it, but he was freaking out right now.

And not just a little freak out either, he felt as though he was currently in the grip of some intense emotional storm that wanted to drain him dry. He somehow felt even more lost and confused than he had when he first stepped out of the wardrobe and found out that actually he knew nothing. Roman had hoped that a little one on one time with one of his friends, while on a quest would help solidify who he really was. 

In some ways it had. Virgil assured him that a lot of the things he found himself instinctively doing were familiar acts that he would have done with his memories. That helped, a lot. To know that he seemed in many ways to be the same person that he had been before. Virgil and the others clearly cared about him a lot so he had to be a good side, a worthy side. He helped Thomas and Roman was looking forward to finally meet him. Or meeting him again, rather. First meeting from his point of view but not from Thomas’ and that was the important thing surely.

Memory loss was confusing. And everything he did was just making him freak out a little more, no matter how hard he tried to remain calm. It made a strange fluttery feeling rise in his chest, some kind of mixed pleasure and horror. It was good. It was all good? He was a good side and he was still that same side now.

Roman found himself examining those traits rather closely regardless. 

He was brave, he was reckless at times. He really did go off on quests and act the prince, and slay the monster. Charging directly at an enemy to protect a hiding friend was apparently par for the course when it came to him. As did falling for foolish tricks and eating magic jelly. Sure it had looked rather delicious, but not delicious enough that he should have risked everything just to taste it. It was yet another thing that made Roman uncertain about who he really was. 

He seemed... nice? Roman wasn’t completely sure what to make of himself, beyond the hope that he was good. He seemed a little too... fast at times. Too quick to jump onto a thought or an action and just do it without stopping to wonder if it was the right thing to do. Like the jelly. 

Roman thought back to all the items he had looked over in his room, things that clearly meant a lot to him because he had kept them, had placed them where he could see them all the time. Most of the posters and stuffed animals left him feeling... not cold exactly. But detached from any positive feelings. They were, again... just nice. Cute too, but he didn’t love them in the way he used to love them. How could he, when he didn’t understand or know the stories and movies they came from? 

Then there was the issue of Virgil.

Virgil wasn’t a villain, that much was obvious. He had been so scared about admitting what he was to Roman and although he knew that anxiety didn’t sound like the greatest thing in the world, there was no way that Virgil was anything other than what he appeared to be. Someone trying so hard to do the right thing, and fighting for it every step of the way.

What could be more noble than being afraid, admitting you were afraid, but then managing to do it anyway? 

Something niggled at him though, an itch at the base of his skull that refused to be rubbed away. 

Virgil had been truly scared to tell him what he really was, as though he feared his reaction more than he would normally. Roman couldn't get the image of Virgil's face out of his mind, that broken hearted look when Roman hadn't instantly said anything in response to his grand admission. He seemed devastated by the silence but there was more than just an awful pain in that expression. There had been... acceptance?

As though he had thought from the start that Roman would react badly to the fact he was Anxiety, or worse, that he thought Roman _should_ react badly to that information. Perhaps it was just the way Virgil was. He was nervous after all, constantly worrying about things and maybe he just automatically thought the worst.

Somehow, despite having no memories, Roman had no doubt that it wouldn't be the first time that Virgil had vastly over exaggerated in his own mind a worst case scenario. Especially since, as it turned out, he was Anxiety and that was a lot of what he probably did. 

Yet that didn't seem to explain everything, not completely.

It had to be exhausting to be Virgil all the time. Constantly on your guard, constantly waiting for the shoe to drop, for something to happen that would justify the negative behaviour and feelings. He was Protection of a sort after all and it pleased Roman to think that he had been right. Even if Virgil might not see it - chronic low self esteem appeared to be another aspect to Virgil’s trait. Roman knew him as a protector, constantly jumping in to warn of dangers, always fighting to defend someone else, doing whatever he could to keep everyone safe.

Roman knew him as a worrier, someone who could see danger a mile away, whose mind was constantly busy, whirling away as it tried to work out every possible threat it could. 

Roman knew him as a hero because of all of that and so much more besides. 

Maybe that hurt and acceptance had purely been because that was how Virgil was trained to view the world around him. 

But maybe it was also something to do with Roman too. Patton hadn't wanted to tell, told Roman it wasn't his place, which even at the time had seemed odd and off. As though there was something almost wrong about Virgil, as though there was something shameful about his defining trait.

Surely Patton didn't think ill of Virgil?

The moral side always appeared to be so warm, so friendly. So full of love and close to all of them. Roman couldn’t bare the thought that it might have been a trick, that Patton wasn’t as open as he seemed. It was too cruel a trick, to believe that Patton had been playing him with his apparent caring when in reality he thought Virgil was a danger simply for being Anxiety. 

Then again, the other option, that perhaps Roman had once thought ill of Virgil and would revert to that thinking again, was too even more painful, too painful to even think about, Roman cutting off the thought before it could fully form within him. If he refused to give it credence then it couldn’t be true. 

He didn’t really know what to make of any of this information. He didn’t know how he was supposed to react to Virgil’s news and the other sides’ own reactions had made him feel as though he had somehow gotten it wrong. Roman hated this feeling of trying to swim through dangerous currents in the dark where he couldn’t see any rocks or traps. It was exhausting. 

Roman just wanted to _remember_ again. He wanted to be himself again, because things had to make a whole ton more sense when he could remember all the nuances of his own character. When he knew exactly where he stood with everyone and all the things he couldn’t help but feel that they were keeping from him. Roman wanted to know who he really was, he wanted the world to start to make sense again. For things to stop hurting so much, to stop being so confusing and for the pieces to click satisfyingly into place. 

He needed to calm down, Roman could feel his heart rate picking up the longer he worried about everything he was missing.

Ironically, Roman felt that the best person to ask for help would be Virgil himself. If anyone knew how to handle the emotions that were hurtling through him, it would be Virgil because he had to fight these kind of bad thoughts all the time surely? He would know how to distract himself properly, how to push them from his mind and focus on anything else. 

But Roman didn't want to bother him. He didn't want to add to his stress and his cares. Virgil was clearly worried about so much and the last thing Roman wanted was to place his own shallow little worries on top of everything else that had to be bugging him. Roman just needed to battle through this on his own, needed to work out how to deal with the raging dumpster fire his feelings seemed to have turned into.

“I can feel your nerves you know.” Virgil’s voice was grumpy, the other side rolling his eyes a little from his position beside him, the two on horseback once more, making their way through the snow. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but you need to chill.” 

Easier said than done.

Roman knew he needed to chill out. He also needed to let those emotions out, to scream and cry at the world, to rant about how unfair it was and how hard this was. He was surrounded by strangers who all had their own ideas about the sort of person he was and Roman had no idea which of those views were right or not. They were all different, which was only to be expected but that didn’t make his own internal storm any easier to deal with. He needed to break down and hopefully feel better because of it, but at the same time, Roman didn’t want to give in to his weakest and worst emotions. He wanted to be the strong prince Virgil apparently thought he was. 

“Hey, hey Ro, look at me?” Virgil was suddenly leaning in front of him, Roman blinking a couple of times and he didn’t remember stopping yet Bree had come to a complete halt, Hwin shifting a little to stand beside him, clearly having turned around to do so. 

There was a worried expression on Virgil’s face as he stared at him and Roman didn’t understand why. So he had clearly zoned out for a moment or two, so what? It wasn’t a terrible thing and he was clearly fine so why was Virgil staring at him in a mixture of horror and pity? Roman opened his mouth to say something - what, he wasn’t quite sure - before closing it again, feeling a thick and heavy lump in his throat, something that no matter how hard he swallowed, he couldn’t force down. 

“Roman... are you okay?” Virgil’s voice was far softer than it had any right to be, one hand lifting to pat lightly against his own cheek. 

Slowly, Roman lifted a hand to his face, brushing against his cheek in a mirror image of Virgil. He pulled his hand back, staring dumbly at his now wet fingertips. 

He was crying.

When had he started crying? 

“Okay, you know what, this isn’t working,” Virgil still looked concerned as he spoke but there was a determination in his eyes that told Roman his friend had decided on something and wasn’t going to move from it easily. 

“It isn’t?” Roman forced out around the thick knot in his throat that still refused to go anywhere. He didn’t think he liked where this was heading. Virgil lifted a hand to rub nervously at the back of his neck, Roman’s eyes following the motion as he did so.

“We can’t just keep... wandering around in the snow, hoping to find some clue. The sledge was a dead end, in that it didn’t tell us where to go next here, but we still have some clues to what happened. If we can’t go forward to solve this, then the only answer is to go backwards.” 

“Virgil, you’re not making any sense, what are you saying?” Roman had a pretty good idea he knew what the other man was saying but he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to believe he was right. 

“I’m saying... we should go home Roman,” Virgil told him with a heavy sigh. Roman instantly shook his head and no, no, they couldn’t do that! That wasn’t how the story was supposed to end! They were meant to discover the source of the problem and deal with it. They were meant to defeat the evil and restore his memories before returning in triumph. Not crawling back with their tails between their legs and nothing solved. 

“You mean give up,” Roman replied, dimly aware that he was still crying. Silent tears that seemed to flow without any input on his end and why couldn’t he stop crying? Roman lifted an arm, sleeve wiping roughly against his eyes as he tried to swipe away all the tears and it just wasn’t fair that he was crying now. They seemed to be numbing tears more than anything else. They weren’t letting him get his emotions out, they were just making Roman look weak. What was the point of that?

It just made Virgil look at him with that heartbroken expression and that hurt so much more than Roman would have thought possible. It felt as though metal bands had fastened themselves around his heart, clamping down on it and pressing tight, leaving him broken and breathless. It was clear enough for Virgil to see it, which made him look even more upset, which in turn led to Roman feeling more upset. A vicious circle that never seemed to want to end. He gave his eyes a final, last desperate rub, pleased that the tears seemed to be finally coming to an end. Maybe he had just run out of tears. 

“This place is hurting you and we don’t know where to go next. It’s not a defeat, it is... just a retreat to find a different way to attack. I am _not_ giving up Roman. I just can’t stand this.” Virgil told him seriously. 

Roman frowned a little as he considered the words. Virgil was right of course - they had no idea where to go next and had been travelling for what felt like hours now, just following a track left in the snow with no rhyme or reason. They had no idea where to go next, no clue they could follow. It was hard to even come up with a suggestion as to what they could do instead and Roman had no idea, no plan of his own they could follow. He didn’t want to give up but Virgil was making a lot of sense. 

“Okay.”

“... Wait really? Okay? Just like that?” Virgil looked far more surprised than he really had any right to be, some of the fight draining from his body as he realised Roman had actually agreed with him. It made the bands wrapped around Roman’s heart gave another squeeze as he wondered if he had ever said that to Virgil without the fight that the other side had clearly expected. Virgil knew what he was doing, he knew more than Roman at any rate. 

“Well yeah... I trust you and your judgement Virgil.” Roman didn’t think he was saying anything ground breaking although really if Virgil had been surprised he had just agreed with him, he should have known that saying something like that would be important.

Virgil’s eyes grew wide as he said those words though, a glassy sheen covering them for a moment before the other side blinked a couple of times, snapping back into his careless looking attitude. Left shoulder rose and fell in a crooked shrug, something a little too casual to really feel real for Roman and it was obvious that his words meant a lot to the other side.

Somehow, that trap around his heart constricted again, tightening ever further and he didn’t know how he could handle the pain, the sensation of his heart being crushed under the weight of his choices and how different they were from the choices he had apparently originally made. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, threatening to fall again and it seemed as though he hadn’t run out of tears after all, hadn’t even come close. Roman wasn’t going to cry though. He wasn’t going to let Virgil think he had done something to make him cry.

Roman wasn’t even sure anymore why he wanted to cry. Frustration at what he had lost was rapidly crystallizing into anger, rage directed inward at himself and only himself. 

“That’s cool,” Virgil said gruffly, offering Roman a crooked smile to go with his shrug, something small but there. It felt like an honest expression, a smile of thanks, of relief, dare Roman even think it, of joy to know that Roman thought that of him. 

He really had never said anything like that before, had he? He had never been honest about how he felt, had never encouraged Virgil, never tried to lift him up and Roman couldn’t think of any excuse that could possibly justify such behaviour. 

“Home then?”

“Home,” Roman agreed, the word still sounding a little funny, a little foreign coming from him. What was home anyway? Patton and Logan were home. Thomas was home and he was impatient to actually talk to him, to gain some understanding as to what role Roman actually played. It was all very well to say he was Creativity, to say that he was a prince that went on noble quests but what did that actually _mean_ in practise? 

Maybe they would find the answers they had been seeking when they returned to the house in the mind. For all they knew Logan and Patton between them might have come up with a solution already and were just waiting for them to get back. Then there was the jelly that Virgil still had on him, who knew what secrets Logan could unlock within it if he had to, who knew what he could find out. If he could discover the poison, that was a step closer in making the antidote and before Roman knew it, he could be back to his old self again.

Maybe things would work out. 

And maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he didn’t get his memories back. Maybe the Roman they all knew wasn’t as good as any of them liked to hope. Maybe this was his go at a second chance at being a better friend. The sort of Roman he was meant to be. 

Maybe he could become a new Creativity, one that could say nice things to his friends - let alone call them his friends - without them looking as though he had just proclaimed his deepest, most heartfelt love for them. It shouldn’t shock Virgil as much as it had done, just to say he trusted him and Roman knew he needed to change. 

He needed to become someone that didn’t have an aching heart.

With a click of his tongue, Roman gently urged Bree to move, letting the horse turn away from the endless white of the path to nowhere and instead returned to the... well, endless white of the path that lay behind them, the prints of hooves the only thing breaking up the monotony of white and even they were starting to be lost under the endless falling snow. At least it gave them something to follow for now. 

Thoughts were swirling as they made their way back towards the Wardrobe and actual warmth which, if nothing else, Roman was looking forward to. He wanted to do something fun with Virgil, but what?

Roman looked down at the snow, an idea forming in his mind. 

\--

Time was one hundred percent messing with him in this world and Virgil was one hundred percent _done_ with the reality defying laws of physics that did whatever they pleased depending on the moment. 

They had been travelling for over a day and a half since leaving the Wardrobe and striking out first to the sledge and then the camp overnight. Not to mention the hours upon hours of travelling as they had moved from their camp in their aimless wandering. 

It should have taken them at least a similar time back, Virgil resigning himself to another night of guarding Roman - and this time hopefully not letting his friend down by falling asleep - and yet the sun was just starting to sink under the horizon as they reached the clearing that housed the lamppost and beyond, the way back to the mind. They hadn’t even passed the snow covered remains of their campsite, and Virgil knew it couldn’t have snowed so much as to obscure all traces completely. 

Time and distance were pressing in on themselves, twisting around so that things happened faster than they should. It was infuriating and the only reason Virgil hadn’t completely lost his mind over the whole thing was the thought that at least it was almost over. He was clinging to that thought, almost chanting it to himself that this was almost done, that they just had to get back through the Wardrobe and they would be back in a place that made a little more sense at least. Virgil knew the rules in the mind, he knew how things worked. 

“This is where Hwin and I must part ways with you both. We have our homes to return to, but should you ever require our assistance again, simply place your hand upon the metal tree and call for us. The message will be sent and we will respond,” Bree announced grandly, coming to a stop to allow Roman to dismount. Hwin and Virgil followed suit a few seconds later and as grateful as Virgil had been having a lift, he had to be honest, he was happier to be using his own feet again. He couldn’t help but feel a lot more steady walking than balanced atop a horse. 

“Thank you Hwin,” Virgil murmured softly, reaching up to pat her neck carefully. Just because he was glad he was able to walk once more didn’t mean he had to be rude and he was appreciative for her help. They wouldn’t have been able to get nearly as far as they had without them. 

Or maybe they would. Reality was confusing here after all. Regardless, they wouldn’t have been able to find the sledge without Bree helping and it was just good manners to thank them. No point making extra enemies, especially when Virgil had so many of those to start with. 

Virgil might not know a lot about friendship and people in general, but he knew enough to know you were supposed to thank them when they did something nice for you.

“My pleasure Virgil. Don’t forget Bree’s words, they go double for me and for you. I am here if you have need of me,” Hwin promised, her voice gentle yet there was an undercurrent of seriousness to it, an intent as though she was saying more than the words would originally imply. That or Virgil was getting overly paranoid. 

Either was about equally likely. 

“Okay...” Virgil said slowly, turning the words over in his mind, trying to gleam some understanding as to what she could be trying to tell him. Maybe he was just overthinking it, and Hwin didn’t know what to say either. She didn’t seem eager to say anything else, to offer any hints as to what she could mean, the mare simply looking at him for a couple of moments longer.

With a soft stamp of one of her front hooves, Hwin turned away, starting to move through the forest away from them and no doubt towards the area that she called home, Bree a length or two behind her. Or else she was moving away to a place that didn't exist because Roman hadn’t imagined it into existence yet, with the possibility that the pair of them might vanish from the world completely once they left the little bubble that Roman and Virgil were currently in. 

Maybe, in a way, they were heading to their death, written out of the story like minor characters, never to make an appearance again. Perhaps her words had been that, a silent plea that he had ignored because he was socially incompetent and didn’t understand. 

That was another reason why Virgil didn’t like going to the Imagination - he got way too dark and real about things like that. Either he refused to engage in the scenario at all, which normally lead to Roman pouting and claiming he was _ruining_ the scene, or else he did engage. And then got invested in the characters as actual people and had to deal with the heartbreak of losing them forever when Thomas and Roman eventually got bored with whatever it was and forgot about them. When that happened that area of the mind would eventually get replaced by the newest obsession that had gripped Thomas. 

It probably wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone to learn that Virgil listed separation anxiety among the many, _many_ anxieties that plagued him. 

Part of Virgil knew it was foolish, because Hwin, Bree and the White Wizard himself weren’t real and so it was technically impossible to be upset that they were gone. They were literally characters, a twisted mix of something Thomas had once read and the spin Roman put on them to make them his own. That was even worse, because Roman worked so _hard_ on all his characters and he made them all have their own little quirks which made them so much more than the versions on paper. Which meant Virgil got that much more attached to them and right back round to the pain of losing them.

Losing fiction characters and being upset by it, how pathetic was that? 

By that same logic of course, Virgil, Roman and the others weren’t real either which Virgil _knew_ but he tried to save those kind of existential crises thoughts for early in the morning when he and Thomas had nothing better to do. There was so much about the Sides which made no sense, the way in which they could like things that Thomas didn’t or vice versa. 

He was certainly going to be thinking about this topic long into the night when he had nothing else to distract him, that was for sure. But for now, he had something else to focus on, he had this moment and that would have to be enough. 

Virgil watched the pair ride off, following them until they had vanished completely between the trees before sighing heavily. This was it. They had made the choice and they were going home where hopefully Logan would have come up with an answer. Where they could be safe at least. He had been surprised Roman had agreed so easily and some part of Virgil couldn’t relax, waiting for the trick, the sting in the tail. 

Things were never that easy and he was used to having to fight every step of the way just to be heard. To have someone, anyone, give in so easily to him, just made Virgil that much more anxious than if he had to prove his point. Virgil started to turn back towards Roman, thoughts still twisting and squirming inside of his mind. Which was pretty much par for the course really and would cause him problems down the line when he wanted to sleep. That was future Virgil’s problem, present Virgil had enough on his plate as it was without thinking about that.

“Okay Rom-” Words were cut off by a snowball direct to his face, the coldness making him gasp slightly as he was suddenly blinded by white. Everywhere white. 

For a moment it felt as though as his brain had completely disconnected and all he could think was a low frequency static that just buzzed in the back of his brain. Words started to form in his brain once more, slowly coming back online but little more than one thought at a time, mental fingers struggling to find anything to grip onto in order to climb back out of the white hole he had been thrown into. 

Snow.

Face.

Cold.

Shock.

Snowball?

Laughter - mean? 

No, not mean, not mocking. 

Light.

Bright. 

Roman

No rock.

No... rock? 

Virgil lifted a hand slowly, wiping some of the snow off his face, small chunks dropping from his fingers to land harmlessly on the ground beside him. His fingers were cold from where he had touched the light flakes, and the snowball hadn’t been packed very tight. It had still mostly been fluffy snow instead of ice pressed down.

There hadn’t been a rock inside of it. Well of course there wouldn’t be, would there. This was Roman after all, this was his friend, someone he could trust. There was a difference between knowing that however and actually _knowing_ it, between believing it down to his bones and his body was a lot less trusting than his mind. It had flinched and sought to protect itself without giving him that extra second he needed to know that it was safe.

Some part of Virgil was still grappling with the fact that there really hadn’t been a rock inside of it and he had just had his first, genuine snowball flung at him. 

He gaped at Roman who had formed another snowball and was standing a few feet away from him, a bright grin on his face. 

“Ready for more?” The words were clearly taunting and yet the tone of voice wasn’t. Teasing perhaps, but friendly, excited for a snowball fight. Roman pulled his arm back and he seemed to slow down, his movements becoming that much more exaggerated, Virgil almost able to see what he was going to do a second before he actually did them. 

Fight or flight kicked in, Virgil ducking and diving to the side, using a nearby tree as cover as he scooped up a handful of snow of his own, frantically patting it into a ball. He had no idea what was going on or why Roman had decided to start a snowball fight of all things but there was little time to wonder and worry about the why when he was stuck in the middle of it actually happening. 

He heard the snowball impact against the tree he was hiding behind and again, the sound was fairly soft, the projectile coming apart the moment it hit anything hard.

There wasn’t a rock in that one either.

In the back of his mind, Virgil wondered how many snowballs Roman was going to throw before his mind and body got the message that there would never be a rock or any other nasty surprise hidden within. When was he finally going to get it through his thick skull that they didn’t want to hurt him?

Even as he was thinking that, Virgil was moving, slipping from tree to tree, always using them as cover as he started to circle Roman. He needed to keep moving, keep him distracted while Virgil planned his next move, his brain working overtime. This was different though, this was almost good because his brain was working on something positive, on a task that he could actually do. 

Another snowball flew overhead, Virgil blindly tossing his crudely made one back in Roman’s direction. It probably wouldn’t hit but then the intention wasn’t to actually hit but to simply disorientate Roman, to make him underestimate him and give Virgil another few precious seconds to get behind another tree and away from any new flying cold menace. He might still not understand the why, but that no longer mattered, not with adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

If Roman wanted a fight like this, he was going to get one. It was never a wise idea to take on the literal representation of fight or flight and he had no idea who he was messing with. This was one fight that Virgil was going to win.


	8. Attacking Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so quickly? I'm on a roll here guys. 
> 
> It's about time we had a lighter chapter as well as answer some of the questions that I know you guys have had about what has been going on. Plus, some fun Virgil and Roman interactions incoming! 
> 
> Comments and Kudos feel my soul as always.

** **

### Attacking Anxiety

** **

Roman was having so much fun!

He had been able to push all of his negative and unpleasant thoughts firmly to one side in order to focus on the game slash battle at hand. Physically doing something was a good way to forget about any issues for a little while it seemed. All of Roman’s energy went into crafting the snowballs he was using to try and tag Virgil once more. There were no rules to the game as far as he knew, no point system, no way to win until the other person admitted they had lost.

It was just a simple game and it was wonderful. Another ball flew through the air and narrowly missed Virgil as he ducked and weaved, dodging it. This was just what Roman needed, the creative side feeling a swell of affection grow in him as he scooped yet another handful of snow up, barely noticing the chill now. His fingers might be cold but his cheeks were warm and his chest was heaving, a light laugh slipping free as the snow was fashioned into yet another piece of ammunition. 

Bright red sash had been pulled off and tossed over the lamp post the moment he realised Virgil was going to play and fight back. Having such an item on him was just asking for trouble. It gave the other side a clear target to aim for. The bag containing the crofters had been left there too and the last thing either of them wanted was to damage that. 

Now he was dressed mostly in white only and that had to work to his advantage. Maybe that was why Virgil had thrown so few projectiles back, because he didn’t know where he was. Speaking of the other side, Roman suddenly realised he hadn’t seen Virgil in almost half a minute. He turned slowly, straining for any sight or sound. The snow made a crunch with each movement and it should have been easy to work out where Virgil was by that alone but Roman couldn’t hear any snow being disturbed, nothing that told him where the other side was. 

He had to be somewhere. 

A flash of purple caught his eye. Roman felt a smirk curl onto his lips as he saw the edge of Virgil’s hoodie slip behind a tree and come to a stop. 

There was his prey. So Virgil thought hiding was going to save him from a snow bath did he? Clearly he underestimated Roman and his hunting abilities. This all felt so natural to him, as if he had done this so many times before. Or at least, something similar. Finding tracks, trails, hints as to where his opponent was, it was all part and parcel of what he was apparently. This was energising, invigorating and just the tonic it seemed he needed.

The other side wasn’t moving. Just one sleeve and a bit of the hood that seemed to be pulled up over his head visible, as though he was trying to become one with the environment completely.

Perhaps he was planning an ambush. Roman felt his smirk grew, dipping down to create a second snowball, one for each hand and if that was Virgil’s plan, well, he was just going to have to turn the tables on him wasn’t he. Roman held his breath as he crept closer, acutely aware of every tiny sound he made in the snow, each crunch sounding like an avalanche, making him wince. It felt as if he was more like a blundering elephant than a graceful, sneaking prince. The other side still hadn’t moved though, which had to mean that amazingly he somehow hadn’t heard Roman’s approach. Better and better, this meant he was going to take him completely by surprise. This had to be a victory moment, right here. 

Virgil was almost within touching distance now, Roman’s heart pounding in his ears, a triumphant smirk firmly on his face. 

What was their surname again? Snow... no, no, Sand. Sanders. That was it. Sanders. 

“Eat snow Sanders!” Roman yelled, jumping to the side in order to give himself a clear view of Virgil, one snowball and then the other thrown in rapid succession, directly at the back of Virgil’s hoodie. He was already bending down to scoop up another handful before they had even reached their target, lobbing the third one haphazardly towards his chosen victim. 

Virgil’s hoodie fluttered gracefully to the ground, devoid of anyone actually wearing it, the back caked in snow where all three of the projectiles had landed. 

For a horrible moment, Roman thought he had somehow killed Virgil. 

No, that couldn’t be right. Snow couldn’t do that and even if by some impossible reason it could, then it surely would either have taken effect the first few times he had hit Virgil. Or else Virgil would have screamed for him to stop it because of the danger. There was no way he had killed the anxious side. Just no way. That didn’t explain what _had_ happened and his brain felt sluggish, almost full of snow itself as he crossed the distance to reach the hoodie now lying in the snow.

Roman stared down at it in shock before carefully crouching and poking at the item of clothing.

Could Virgil _teleport?_ Was that something all the sides could do or just Virgil? Was it a flight or fight thing? Virgil had reluctantly shared some information about what being anxiety actually entailed and it had only reinforced his belief that Virgil was a good guy, that he was protection because it was him that came out to defend Thomas in times of stress. Maybe part of that was being able to teleport, Roman still staring numbly at the hoodie and feeling that he was missing something... very important.

Snow fell around him, a steady and light scattering of flakes from the clouds that never seemed to lift. As fun as this was right now, Roman certainly wouldn’t miss the endless cold and snow when they crossed the Wardrobe border and back to the warmth of the house. He needed to find Virgil first however, and that didn’t seem as easy any more. 

A few extra clumps fell on his left arm. Roman felt the slightly weightier snow but paid it no heed as he absently lifted a hand to brush it off his sleeve, still trying to work out what had just happened to his friend. 

“Eat snow Sanders!” Virgil’s voice screamed out from somewhere above him, Roman automatically looking up for the source of the noise. For a second he caught a glimpse of Virgil balanced on a branch above him, his long sleeved purple top surely offering no protection against the cold. There was a cocky, almost manic energy to his grin as he tossed two snowballs down in rapid succession, both smacking Roman right in the face and for a few seconds blinding him.

Which meant he couldn’t see what Virgil did next. He could certainly hear him however and with a war like yell, Virgil launched himself from his position, crashing into Roman a few moments after the snowballs, sending them both falling to the ground. Roman hit the ground doubly hard, his back connecting to the snow and his front apparently cushioning Virgil so that the other side landed on him and now the snow. 

For what felt like an eternity they simply lay there, Roman far too winded to even think about moving, let alone pushing Virgil off him. In a weird sort of way, despite how incredibly uncomfortable it was, it wasn’t all bad because his front was at least a little warm from the Virgil blanket he had apparently gained. 

“Ugh, I hate heights,” Virgil groaned at last, rolling off Roman and to the side, his breath coming out in short little puffs of white smoke as he pushed himself into a crouching position. Using his elbows as support, Roman pushed himself up a little as well, watching as Virgil wandered off to his discarded hoodie, collecting it and shaking the fabric to try and get rid of the large chunks of snow that were still clinging to it. 

The words slowly started to sink in, Roman’s mouth dropping open into a little o like shape as he finally just understood what Virgil had said. Hating heights was fine, it was probably quite a common fear but if that was something that affected him then why... then why would... 

“Then why did you climb a tree?” Roman asked slowly, wondering if he had somehow misheard what Virgil had said. Purple checked hoodie was slipped around too thin shoulders, Virgil tilting his head to look back at him, that same manic energy crackling around him. 

“Winning!” 

Well... Roman couldn’t really argue with that sort of logic, even if the choice of word tense was slightly confusing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing somewhere here, something that perhaps he had once known. There wasn’t really any time to brood on what he might have missed because Virgil was moving back towards him, zipping up the hoodie as he went as though it might grant him more warmth against the chill that Roman was belatedly becoming aware of.

“Do you yield?” Virgil asked, a playful tone to his words as he loomed over Roman, standing there with his hands on his hips. There was still that gleam in his eyes however that let the fallen side know that Virgil was only half joking and half ready to launch another insane attack if he had to.

Roman let a breath escape before chuckling, shaking his head a little and it seemed as if the anxious emo nightmare had bested him. It was an ingenious plan of attack, he had nothing but respect for that and now it made him wonder what other ideas Virgil would come up with when placed in other situations. It made Roman want to pick Virgil’s brains even more, made him want to plan an adventure with him together and oh the things they would get up to if they could combine their talents.

The plans and games they could weave when they worked together, they had to be incredible and Roman couldn’t wait to find an opportunity to test that theory. 

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. He kicked at the snow in front of him, letting a large part of the snowdrift fly up into the air, splattering Roman further and starting to mildly bury his legs in the snow. Roman realised with a start that he had visibly shook his head but verbally had kept his acceptance quiet and Virgil clearly thought he meant to keep fighting.

“I yield, I yield,” he agreed hastily before Virgil got any more ideas about how he was going to defeat him. At this point, Roman wouldn't put anything past him, including dropping a literal ton of snow on his head from all the other trees if that was what it took. Virgil grinned brightly, something almost innocent about it - if it wasn't for the way his feet twitched towards the rest of the snowbank, as if eager to kick it again just for fun.

It said a lot about how good Virgil really was, that he resisted the urge to do that when Roman was helpless and completely at his mercy. He wasn't sure if he would have been able to resist the temptation if the positions were reversed - and what did that say about who Roman really was?

“Remind me never to get on your bad side again,” Roman chuckled lightly and he wasn't going to make the mistake of underestimating the darker side ever again.

“Gladly,” Virgil replied in an off hand tone, as though he won these things all the time. Maybe he did. Maybe it had been a fool's errand from the start but there was no real harm in trying, not when it had been a friendly battle. Virgil reached out, offering a hand to him. Roman accepted the gesture without hesitation and let the other pull him back upright, his smile as bright as Virgil's own. This had totally been worth it, even if he had lost. This time at least he had lost. 

A full frontal attack was clearly out of the question because Virgil was liable to turn into a feral version of himself with no mercy at the drop of a hat. A sneak attack was probably out of the question too, since Virgil was Anxiety and Roman had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t see the funny side of Roman setting up some prank that would hit him when he least expected it. That didn’t mean he was going to completely give up this war. There had to be a third option, which was yet another reason why he was looking forward to finally picking Virgil’s brains and getting a better understanding of how he worked. He needed to know how to beat him. 

“Okay Princey, now we're both wet to go with the cold we were feeling, why don't we finally go home and get changed, get warm and maybe try something called relaxing? Plus I want to brag to Logan and Patton about how I totally wiped the floor with you right now.”

Roman had no doubt that Virgil meant those words and that he planned to spend a long time going into great detail about this battle. He didn’t need to have his memories to be able to tell that seemed like the sort of thing Virgil would do. It was endearing, the way he was grinning, seeming so pleased with himself and yet it didn’t come across as arrogant or smug. If only he could remain in this moment and not have to deal with anything else. 

“Princey... that is from... before I take it?” Roman asked softly, the thrill of the game fading as he belatedly took in all of Virgil's words.

Virgil had called him it before he remembered. A couple of times but Roman had never bothered to really think too deeply about it. He had never felt as... bothered by it as he suddenly did right now and what had once been accepted as a name now felt like a danger although he couldn't explain quite why.

“Yeah, it... actually I think you came up with it. I'm not sure. You've just always been Princey to us all.” 

Virgil said the words so matter of fact, as though it was just the way the world worked, as if it made perfect sense for someone who wasn't really a prince to go by that name. Roman nodded absently, filing the words away carefully as he considered the nickname. Princey. It sounded harmless enough really, all things considered. 

But if what Virgil said was true, then Roman had named himself that. Could a nickname mean the same thing if you chose it yourself? It surely didn't have the same power, the same importance than ones where you had been _given_ it by someone who loved you instead of just taking it.

Roman didn't even know if he _liked_ the name Princey. Right now, he wasn't even sure if he liked being a Prince. Oh, there were a lot of advantages of being one of course, there were lots of perks to being royalty, of having people love and respect you like that. He got a cool sword to swing around, he got people to listen to him. He went on grand adventures which more often than not seemed fun. It was what Virgil expected of him and yet... and yet there was something, hovering on the very edge of his consciousness, that made him want to shy away from the reality of the term. 

The feeling of unease that sounded him about the name only grew. 

He tried to hold onto the happy feeling, the joy he had felt during the snowball fight but the emotion was fleeting, slipping through Roman’s fingers as rapidly as the snow was melting on his tunic. He didn’t want to go down this road again, not right now. He was happy, he was feeling good and he wasn’t going to let his own mind twist and snarl against him. He wasn’t going to become his own villain. 

Roman collected his red sash from the lamp post. Carefully, he folded it up a few times before slipping it into the bag he had taken from Bree before they had departed. The jar of Crofters was tucked neatly inside. It helped pad it and protect it from any last minute damage that could occur. Roman didn’t think he would lose too much sleep if it did break and leak its contents all over the sash. There would still be enough left for Logan to run whatever tests he wanted to run and if it meant the red shiny fabric was ruined... well, he could probably clean it but better safe than sorry. It would have to go.

Maybe he could set the bag down a little heavier than he needed to when they returned to the house. And it would be a terrible accident but one that they could all work around.

Virgil was giving him that look again, somewhere between concerned and a studious blank that spoke volumes by how hard he trying to make it say nothing at all. An eyebrow lifted slightly, a twitch that betrayed the question he was clearly trying very hard not to actually ask. Roman felt compelled to answer it anyway, eyes drifting down to look one final time at the sash before he closed the bag. Out of sight, out of mind. 

“No point putting it on wet clothes,” Roman explained and was it really a lie when it was a half truth at best? He didn’t see the point in putting it on when he was already so wet to start with. He really didn’t see the point in putting it on at all really. It just made him a target, gave people something to aim at, be it snowballs, words or poisoned food disguised as perfect treats. He also wasn’t sure if he liked the sash anymore. It was so bright, so garish and it only seemed to highlight what increasingly felt like flaws instead of talents. 

There had to be a reason why he liked the sash, why he chose to wear it so often but as with so much of his life, that reasoning had escaped him, lost in the mists of time. It had been taken from him like everything else, but this was something he would probably be content to never regain. Maybe it was time to start thinking about a change. Roman had to accept the possibility that he might never regain his memories - or at least, that it might be a slow process. He needed to work out what he was going to do in the meantime, how he could learn to help Thomas as this new version of himself. 

That meant changes. Perhaps the sash could be the first sign of that change. 

Virgil’s lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line as he stared at Roman. He tried to smile back, tried to hold his gaze but his eyes kept sliding to the side, slipping from brown eyes to gaze at Virgil’s shoulder instead. He couldn’t meet those eyes, not when Roman was half convinced that the other side could see right into his soul and knew everything he was thinking and feeling. 

To his relief, Virgil didn’t push it. Maybe he wasn’t completely sure about if Roman was lying or not and didn’t want to accuse him without being sure. Maybe he was taking pity on him and letting Roman have this moment, this secret. Whatever the reason, he was going to take this opportunity for the blessing it was and not question it at all. 

They moved over to where this world ended and the other began without another word, Roman able to see the crack so clearly now. Where last time it had just been a light creating a strange outline that he felt drawn to, now he could see different colours and hear faint strands of music drifting through the air towards them. It felt even more enchanting than the last time, something that was really trying to draw attention, to make them want to step closer and closer. Perhaps this was the magic of the world at work again, ensuring that you never got trapped here too long. 

It would be far too easy to become trapped in this world, away from all the things that confused and hurt, without something like the door to encourage you home. 

“Ready?” Virgil murmured, a hint of concern in his voice that he couldn’t quite hide and with a start Roman realised he had been staring at the crack for goodness knows how long without moving or saying a word.

“Let’s do this,” Roman replied, swallowing down a sudden flutter of butterflies, fears crystallising into understanding and he didn’t want to face Logan and Patton. He didn’t want to have to go back to the endless questions, the prodding, the optimism that was so sweet it set his teeth on edge. Virgil hadn’t been like that during the trip, he hadn’t pushed beyond Roman’s comfort level. He had never once acted as if this version of Roman was some fragile, breakable thing. An inferior version of what had come before and one they couldn’t wait to destroy in order to bring back what they considered the ‘real’ Roman. As if he wasn’t still Roman, as if he wasn’t worthy of the same consideration as that shadow of a dream which lingered in their awareness. 

Roman was sure that the others didn't mean that of course. They would never deliberately treat anyone like that. It didn’t change the fact that their determination to ‘fix’ him had come across that way. When he had set out on the quest of course, Roman had felt almost the same way. He had been so impatient to find the answer to all his questions, he had never once stopped to wonder if he actually wanted to know, not deep down.

Who wouldn’t want to know who they really were?

Someone who was starting to question the value of who that previous person might be and reaching worrying conclusions about the original Roman. 

Thoughts were still swirling around his mind as they finally moved into the light, shifting from one place to another in a blink of an eye. Roman stepped over the threshold. He didn’t stumble this time, instead smoothly crossing from one reality of existence to another. The living room was lit by late afternoon sunlight, the rich deep orange illuminating the area and casting everything in a warming glow. Long shadows crept across the ground, winding their way around the couch and table, the staircase in particular creating long spindly lines like witches fingers reaching up into the sky and yet there was a delightful magic to them nevertheless. Roman didn’t fear the magic he could almost taste in this room.

It was beautiful and his smooth passage into the living one had been a sight to behold, Virgil shuffling a few paces behind him almost as graceful. It even made him reconsider his plan to accidentally ruin the Crofters jelly and more importantly his sash because he was just so pleased with himself and the way in which he had mastered the art of crossing over. At least he had learnt _something_ and that had to help. Roman handed the bag to Virgil before the temptation would strike him again. He trusted Virgil with it more than he trusted himself. He would do the right thing. 

That feeling of relief lasted two whole seconds before he was suddenly tackled from the side, Patton wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tight. It was a bone breaking strength of a hug, and maybe Roman was just imagining it, but he could have sworn that he heard his rips crack just a fraction as the moral side seemed to physically attack him with love. 

“I’m so glad you’re both back!” Patton exclaimed joyfully, holding on for a moment longer before releasing Roman so that he could breathe easily once more. He spun, hands suddenly on his hips, looking every inch the scolding father. Roman was struck by the urge to shrink back, to maybe hide behind Virgil as if that could somehow save him from the wrath that was apparently heading his way. Perhaps he had been a little too optimistic with the thought that he could breathe easily once more. 

“What were the two of you playing at, sneaking away in the middle of the night? Do you have any idea how worried we both were? A note does not really cut it, anything could have happened to you two with Roman in the condition he was. Please don’t do something like that again, I know you can come and go as you please but this is a special situation... I was just worried.” 

“Whoa, whoa, Pat, take it down a notch, nothing bad happened... well, not really. Nothing good either,” Virgil replied, shoving his hands in his pockets as he spoke. He looked distinctly ill at ease, Roman unsure if it was because of the not quite telling off they were receiving or the way Virgil had clearly decided not to mention the monster they had battled to ease Patton’s concerns. 

“Oh sorry kiddos, you’re right I let myself get too worked up! Did... did it not work?” Patton looked so crestfallen as he asked that question, that it almost hurt Roman to have to say that he was still the same as the last time they had seen each other. He was still... missing things, was still without his memory, still wasn’t the Roman that Patton knew and for some reason loved. He was still just whatever had been made in his place. 

By the look on Patton’s face it was clear that he had been counting and hoping on the fact that Roman would come back normal. Well, there went any hope that they might have solved the problem of his memory while the two of them were away. And added to the mix of confusing feelings about what Roman actually wanted from this whole mess. 

“Sorry to disappoint you Patton,” Roman replied shortly, giving a small shrug as he did so. He couldn’t stand to meet his gaze any longer, to watch that expression slide into disappointment, to have him realise they were still stuck with this version of the creative side of Thomas. 

“You could never disappoint me Roman!” Patton’s tone of voice was warm, inviting. It almost begged Roman to believe it and yet as badly as he did, as much as wanted nothing more than to brush those miserable thoughts aside there was something stopping him from accepting the easy comfort. It was almost too kind, that voice. Too sugary and rich, too sympathetic. Was Patton really that good of a person? If he had his memories back, then he would know. If he had his memories back, then he would be certain for sure what kind of person he was, but that person also chose to be ‘Princey’ and demand that everyone call him that. 

Roman felt... stifled. As if the air around them had grown steadily thicker and thicker. It wanted to choke him, shoving his own doubts back down his throat and how did he live like this every day? Did he not have these kind of thoughts with his own memories? Or was it just easier to bury them when the mind was full of other things to focus on? 

“Where’s Logan?” Virgil asked, the question cutting through the tension life a knife. It reminded Roman that his friend was still there and that he was almost certainly just imagining these feelings about Patton. They wanted to help him, they were trying their best and it wasn’t their fault that he was confused and unsure of what he actually wanted now. Of course Patton wasn’t actually disappointed, and of course they should find Logan, they had something to give him. 

“Salutations Roman, Virgil.” Logan walked out of the kitchen area, a cup of tea in his hand. 

“I’m going to go check in on Thomas, have fun kiddos.” With a bright grin Patton sank out of the living room, presumably going to the real world, for a moment Roman yearning to go with him. He wanted to see what the other world was like, he wanted to finally meet Thomas - but no, they had to stay here, they had to deal with one issue at a time. Roman was going to have to ask Virgil later how you actually sank down, or whatever it was that they did because he wasn’t sure how to actually travel out of the mind. It was yet another thing that he needed to relearn it seemed. 

“I should clarify that while Patton was worried I was confident in your ability to untangle yourself from any harebrained situation you might have found yourself in,” Logan informed them, carefully placing his half drunk cup down on a coaster on the table. 

“That being said... I am... gratified to see that my trust in you was not misplaced and you are both unharmed. It has not been the same without you both.” Logan lifted a hand to adjust his tie, giving a soft little cough as he did so, and Roman almost thought he looked a little... uncomfortable with what he was saying, as if striking out into unknown territory. “Were you able to discover anything useful?” 

“We found... this,” Virgil replied, pulling out the jar of Crofters and holding it out to Logan. The logical sides eyes lit up at the sight of it, taking the jar and turning it over and over, examining it carefully. To Roman, it felt as if Logan had forgotten he was even in the room, his whole attention swallowed up by the object in his hands. He muttered under his breath as he stared, voice pitched far too low for Roman to hear anything he was actually saying but then he didn’t think the words were really for them anyway. 

“And for the love of all things Halloween, do _not_ be tempted to take a taste. I’m pretty sure this is what caused Prin- uh... Roman’s memory loss,” Virgil warned. 

“Why did you change what name you were using?” Logan asked curiously, even looking away from the jar to stare at the other side who shuffled his feet slightly, moving from side to side. Virgil lifted his hand after a moment, pushing his fringe out of his face a little bit. A seemingly futile gesture as the bangs instantly fell back down to cover them. He gave a huff before finally speaking.

“I dunno... Roman just... didn’t seem to really like it when I used it back there. I don’t want to make him more uncomfortable and confused that he has to be,” Virgil explained and Roman felt something swell inside of him, a heady rush of pleasure that Virgil had noticed and put into words what Roman had been struggling so hard to explain to himself. 

“Interesting. Do you no longer like the nickname of Princey? I confess I have always found it somewhat ostentatious but it was your choice and I respected that. Without the influence of Disney it seems as though you do not have such desires. I did not realise that it had such a profound effect on you, although that is clearly a mistake on my part. Tell me Roman, why do you dislike a name you loved only a few days ago?”

“I...” Roman trailed off his mind hopelessly spinning and not coming up with any answer. He didn’t know what to say, how to answer and Logan was still staring at him with that same piercing gaze, pinning him in place and making him feel increasingly small. He still hadn’t worked out his own feelings, couldn’t put them into even stumbling words and yet Logan expected him to be able to answer everything clearly. 

“Not the time Logan,” Virgil told him carefully, subtly shifting to the side and almost sliding between the two of them, cutting off Logan’s line of sight. The logical side blinked rapidly, seeming to snap back into himself. 

“Of course. I didn't mean to cause offense or push you too hard. You must have had a trying time within the Imagination. I have some tests I can run on this... forbidden Crofters. It will be my greatest challenge yet.” Logan’s attention returned to the jar in his hands, effectively dismissing them both without another word. 

There was something almost... intimidating about Logan. He knew so much and he gave off the impression of knowing even more. Roman was still unsure of where he stood with Logan, just as he was unsure of where he belonged with Patton. 

“Come on, let’s leave the teacher to his work,” Virgil suggested, words breaking through the rising tide of confusion and reminding Roman that there was at least one stable rock in his world. He was Virgil's friend and he knew where he stood with Virgil. Time was clearly the answer, so maybe he just needed to have an adventure with them both and he would be more comfortable in their presence. Until then, Roman had Virgil and that was enough for now. 

“I’m tired, I’m going to go back to my room and relax,” Roman told Virgil quietly, suddenly feeling the strain of the day upon him. He wanted to get away from the questions, all the attention and just try and work through the mess of emotions that were all tangled up in his mind. 

“Sure, I think I’m going to do the same.”

The two climbed the staircase without any further talking, Virgil mumbling some farewell as they reached the top before turning to shuffle to his own room. Roman watched him go for a moment, before he spun on his heel to head in the opposite direction, making his way to the room that bore his name but still felt like it belonged to a stranger. At least he would be left alone in there for a little while. Roman quietly closed the door behind him, leaning against it and exhaling loudly, head tilting up to stare at his ceiling. 

He had a lot of thinking to do.


	9. Second Chance to Make a First Impression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! New decade, same drama. Got some lovely angst in this chapter, as well as a long overdue entrance for a certain character. He's been mentioned but we are finally going to meet him. I hope you enjoy, comments and kudos feel my soul.
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Second Chance to Make a First Impression

** **

Something had changed during their adventure in the Imagination and Virgil didn’t like it. Which, in of itself, was not so surprising. Change as a whole was something that Virgil disliked because of all the upheaval and uncertainty it brought. Change opened the door to the possibility of hurt, of stress, of something new and thus something dangerous. He much preferred the repetitive safety of something he knew. At least with that he had already weighed up the dangers and so it was easier to react to anything that might happen.

When the change was some ill defined, uncertain thing that Virgil couldn’t quite put his finger on, it was even worse. He wasn't really sure what had changed or even when. He knew it was to do with Roman. It was something that changed with his thinking, his behaviour but exactly what eluded him. It had happened before he had seemed unsure of the name Princey. Before he had started growing anxious, but _after_ they had fought the Manticore-Chimera. After he admitted he was Anxiety. 

Virgil worried about those feelings too. It was easier to pick up on someone's negative thoughts in the Imagination when you were sharing a world with them and nobody else. Easier than it was to work out what someone was feeling when there were more options to choose from. There, it was hard sometimes to feel anything over his own anxieties, a situation his room only made worse. It had been a relief to be alone with Roman and to only feel two people’s fears - at first, at least. 

There had been so much anxiety in that snow covered world and Virgil felt there was something off about it. Something that glittered against the snow but melted away with the heat of his hand whenever he tried to close a fist around it. It almost felt as if there had been more than just Roman’s panic and confusion running through him, no matter how impossible that seemed. It was something that he knew he should think more about, should focus on but Virgil was unable to shake his fears around Roman and that took up all of his attention.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been curled up on the coach, scrolling through Tumblr on his phone without really taking any notice of it. The others moved through the room as they wanted. Although Virgil was aware of their presence, he didn’t acknowledge them. His fight or flight senses let him know that he was safe. That he was in the company of people he knew and trusted. It grew dark outside by the time Roman reappeared in the room. Virgil blinked rapidly as he tried to let his tired eyes adjust now that he was no longer staring at a bright screen. Someone - probably Patton - had closed the curtains at some point and turned on the lamp in the corner, letting it cast its warm glow over the room.

Roman still wasn’t wearing his sash. In fact, he wasn’t wearing his tunic at all. The royal side had swapped out his usual attire for a white and red jacket over a cream coloured shirt and jeans - in fact, Virgil was fairly certain that the jacket was the one Thomas had worn in a recent video. It looked good on Roman of course, but Virgil struggled to think of a time outside of a video when any of them had deliberately chosen to dress in something other than what they usual wore. Not to mention his hair was styled in a different way, making him look like a completely different side. Why had Roman decided to change his routine today of all days? 

Virgil was too much of a coward to ask him though, almost afraid of what the answer could be.

“Hey Virgil?” Roman’s voice sounded so small, so unsure and it make Virgil’s heart hurt. He wanted to march back into the Imagination. To tear that world apart until he found the White Wizard and made him reverse this terrible spell he had placed upon Roman and caused him harm. He wanted to rip everything apart with his bare hands. He was filled with a build up of restless energy that had no outlet, begging to wreak havoc in the name of saving Roman. But he couldn’t. Roman needed him. Virgil had to focus on that, and then later, if he had to, he could go find a corner of the mind to deal with his frustrations. 

“I was wondering... could you show me how to get to the real world? I want to meet Thomas face to face. I need to know who I’m part of,” Roman explained. 

Virgil placed his phone inside his hoodie pocket, considering the request carefully. Logan had been against Roman and Thomas interacting. He worried that it would cause more harm than good, that it could trigger a bad reaction in either of them. Thomas might freak out or be understandably upset at seeing a Roman that didn’t know him. Meanwhile Roman might find the actual reality of being someone’s creativity too much to handle when actually confronted with Thomas. It did make sense and it was the sort of argument that Virgil himself might have made, full of what ifs and negative outcomes. 

Virgil couldn’t actually deny Roman anything though, not when he looked at him with such pleading eyes. When did he get so soft? So... weak? All of them had this effect on him and Virgil was seriously starting to wonder if it was messing with his tough guy image. If maybe that was why none of them wanted to take him seriously anymore. It made him worry of course. He was Anxiety, he was supposed to be able to make them panic when he needed to and although he knew he ‘still had it’, Virgil didn’t want to have to spend that long trying to do his job ever again. 

Way too much effort.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop being weak for them, helping them when he could, because it was a drug in its own right and Virgil never wanted to stop feeling that rush of pleasure and joy whenever they smiled at him. Or whenever he just did something nice for them, even if they didn’t realise he was doing it. Virgil wasn’t sure if that made him selfish or not, doing something good just to make himself feel good. Either way, it didn’t change the fact he felt mentally incapable of denying Roman his request.

“Okay,” he agreed. Virgil reached out a hand to lightly take Roman’s own and focused on sinking out and back up into the living room of the real world. 

Rising up felt as weird and as uncomfortable as it had done the last time but as much as he wanted to just appear, he knew that his method of transport would just make Roman feel sick. A little bit of lightheadedness was a small price to pay to make sure that Roman didn’t have to feel that on top of everything else that was happening to him right now.

The first thing Virgil saw when the room stopped spinning and he could focus on something other than the sound of his heart was Thomas. His gaze almost always went to Thomas first of all whenever he was summoned to the real world, needing to see with his own eyes that his host was okay. It didn’t matter that he could feel him and would know if he was in danger, Virgil couldn’t always trust his own senses. That being said, he couldn’t always trust his own eyes, but that was a worry for another day.

Right now, he was adding worried about Thomas to his list of things to be stressed about. 

Virgil had known that he wasn’t doing very well. He had spent most of his time after Roman had showed up without his memory but before the trip to that snow filled world with Thomas. Watching out for him, trying to push him into doing any of the daily jobs that needed to be done. It was easy to keep him going to some degree, to have him move through the various elements of the day but he did it without any real enthusiasm, without any flair. 

Thomas ate because he needed to, but he did the bare minimum needed and never bothered to actually cook anything. It seemed that cooking delicious hot food required creativity on Thomas’ part. It went without saying that none of the projects had been worked on since the last time Virgil checked in on him. Even the video game that Virgil suggested Thomas play had been abandoned half-way through because he couldn’t get emotionally connected to either the story or the characters without some creative desires running through him.

“Oh... hi Virgil, hi Roman.” Thomas lifted a hand to wave rather listlessly in their direction before looking back down at the plate on his lap. The TV was on, something playing softly in the background, Thomas apparently watching it for the sake of doing something. 

“He’s not normally like this,” Virgil explained, and it broke his heart to see Thomas so down. All Virgil could do was send a jolt of adrenaline through him but really what good would that do? It would just make Thomas stressed and panicked without anything to actually focus on. There was no threat beyond the persistent worry that this was wrong. Virgil couldn’t help because he was nothing more than a negative trait. All he could do was watch this and push Thomas into at least washing up once he was done. That wasn’t going to make things better; for Thomas or for Roman.

“It’s because of me isn’t it,” Roman said, eyebrows furrowed as he watched their host pick listlessly at the plate beside him. “He’s not functioning as well as he could because I’m not there inspiring him to do the sort of things that he should be doing. I’m not helping him and this is the result.” 

“It’s not your fault Roman,” Virgil tried to tell him, and he was really no good at this kind of thing. He wished Patton was here, because Dad always knew the right thing to say or do in these kind of situations. Patton would know how to comfort Roman and encourage Thomas. It was probably the moral side who had made the plate of food up for Thomas to eat, a random mix of cheese, vegetables and chocolate chip cookies all crowded up to each other. All finger food that required no effort on Thomas’ part.

Roman took a step closer to Thomas, never once looking away from their host, from the man who looked so much like them and yet so different. Who, despite Virgil’s comments, _was_ hurting, was damaged because of what had happened. Intent didn’t matter so much when faced with the consequences or the fact that they didn’t know how to fix this. 

“No... no, I know it’s not... at least, it isn’t my fault so far. I couldn’t help him in the past when I didn’t know any better but I can help him now. I can’t be the same Roman that I was with my memories but I am still his Creativity. I still have a job to do and until I do it right he is going to be stuck like... this and I don’t- I don’t want that. I _won’t_ let this keep happening to him. I’m Creativity, I am Roman and I’m here to help Thomas. No matter what, I’m here to help him and that is exactly what I am going to do.” 

It was a nice speech, full of hope and a call to arms, a determination to do the right thing. So why did it make Virgil want to shiver as if it had been an announcement of a defeat? That feeling of something changing was swirling around him again, stronger than ever. He was missing something important and it was happening right under his nose. 

Or maybe he was over thinking it all again. After all, Logan, it seemed... had been wrong? Nothing terrible had happened, and Thomas seemed curiously uninterested in the two of them. Virgil had always assumed that Logan handled the curiosity aspects of Thomas’ brain since he was logic, the thirst for knowledge and the constant desire to learn things. Logan was a very curious side and yet it seemed there was only so much he could inspire Thomas to do without Roman there as well. 

It never failed to amaze Virgil about how interlinked they all were, how everyone else had seemed to grow beyond their original role, how they embodied so much more as they grew and learnt more about the world. 

Seeing Thomas had inspired Roman and as Virgil watched, Thomas reached out, picking up a piece of cheese and then a cubed bit of vegetable, eating them together for a better flavour combination. It was a tiny thing, almost unnoticeable in the grand scheme of things and yet it was still an act of creativity. Imagining how the two would go together to make a good combo, that was Roman right there. Virgil felt a small smile of relief grow on his face as Roman took a step closer, gingerly settling on the couch next to Thomas.

So this was a good thing right? Not a bad thing like his nerves had been screaming at him. A bad stupid thing where he should never have brought Roman here and it was just making other things worse. It was helping and this was just his own anxiety getting the better of him surely, his own dark thoughts conspiring against what was true. Cognitive Distortions all over again, when he had no reason to be uneasy.

No reason at all. 

The two were talking to each other now, Thomas gradually growing more and more animated as he shared some tale with Roman. His hand waved about in the air as he narrated whatever it was he saying with added flair. It was normal, this was normal, and more than normal, this was good. Maybe if Virgil kept telling himself that enough times he would actually believe it, would let it overwhelm the feelings of dread that kept clawing away at his insides. 

Roman was quieter than normal but that was okay too, that was only to be expected after everything that they had been through recently. Roman was trying to learn who Thomas was and by extension, who he was. 

Virgil tried to push down that knot of unpleasant feelings, to shove it out of the way and thus deny its existence. He might know that ‘something’ was off, but he was making a better effort to ignore the vague and undefinable aspects of his personality. The rough awkward edges that just caused everyone else pain, the edges that Virgil never wanted any of them to see because what if they decided he was too much work, that he was too broken?

Why else would he feel concern in this moment unless there was something wrong with him? Why would he look at Roman and Thomas together and feel a stirring of panic within him, that feeling of change and dropping off the edge of a cliff with no way back up. 

He watched the two of them talk and tried to smile, to let them have their moment. It felt like a grimace, as if he had swallowed glass, the broken pieces cutting into his mouth and jaw as the seconds crawled agonizingly slowly past. 

Virgil turned away, unable to watch the moment any longer. He didn’t want to ruin it, to let his influence seep into their conversation, to have them both turn afraid and worried. It was better if Virgil was the only one who felt any of this, if he was the only one who had to worry about being worried. Thomas was going through so much already, anxiety was the last thing he needed. Sometimes, Virgil felt as though anxiety was always the last thing Thomas needed. Sometimes... sometimes well, sometimes he felt as though he was just causing more problems by being here.

That was wrong, he knew that was a wrong thought. He _knew_ he could be useful, that his influence was needed in moderation and that he had a role to play. Virgil knew all that but it was still hard to have to be the bad thoughts, to pull them in and feel them in Thomas’ place, to decide which ones he should let by and which ones he would have to just feel instead. Right now, Virgil knew he had to feel them, that Thomas needed his head clear for this conversation. 

Neither of them seemed to even notice him retreating into the kitchen.

Virgil’s hand trembled as he reached out to open a cupboard, plucking a glass from inside before pouring some of the cold water from the tap. The liquid shook and danced within the glass, spilling over the edge and splashing down into the sink, leaving droplets of clear fluid where it landed. Virgil stared down at the water he had poured himself without really seeing it, his mind back in the living room and the two of them sat on the couch. 

What _was_ it about the scene that had upset him so much?

The feelings would persist no matter if he thought of them or not. So he might as well try and work through his issues, his strange reaction in an attempt to understand them. He just needed to try and let some of Logan’s influence into his thinking. He needed to change the knee jerk reaction to seeing them to the clear thinking that the logical side attempted to inject into every aspect of Thomas’ life. 

He knew Logan’s thought process so surely it shouldn't be too hard to work out why he felt the way he did. What had he observed that perhaps Virgil hadn’t realised he had seen? He had seen Roman look at Thomas. He had seen Thomas lost without his Creativity and that was an unpleasant moment but it wasn’t what flipped the switch in in his mind. 

It was the stillness, he realised. 

It was the stiff way in which Roman had moved. The slow motions of Thomas in turn. As though his host was encased in ice that was only just now starting to break away and thawing. He had been like a living statue and that never stopped hurting. It was the way in which Roman hadn’t pulled out a sword or made some dramatic promise to protect or slay. Roman was meant to be constantly moving, always posing, preening. He was the drama of Thomas’ life, he was the energy, the soul of the moment and to have him so... so not any of those things, it made a chill spread all through Virgil’s form. 

To have Roman sit next to Thomas without spinning any number of wildly improbable but well intended ideas was just not normal. It was different in a way that Virgil truly despised. He wanted to purge it from his memory even as the image of the two of them burned itself deeper into his mind. 

It had been the look of two strangers forced to interact. Even Thomas’ story had been stilted in places, his movements short and wary, as if distrusting of Roman almost. That hurt, to think that Thomas might not be comfortable with his own creativity anymore. 

Roman was everyone's prince at the end of the day. Even Virgil’s.

So really that had been what was hurting him, that made his anxiety kick in. As much as Virgil did his best not to pressure Roman or to treat him like he was some second best version of Creativity without his memories. He couldn’t deny that he missed the side he had once been - how could he do anything but love Roman, just as he loved his whole family, loved them so much it hurt? Virgil wanted his prince back. He wanted his friend back and while Virgil liked this Roman too, it didn’t seem fair, to compare one to the other.

He couldn’t pick between the two versions of Roman. And he couldn’t help but feel he was constantly betraying the other every second he spent with this new Roman or every moment he spent thinking about the old. 

For perhaps the first time since Roman had stumbled through the Wardrobe in what felt like an eternity ago, Virgil felt as if he was finally understanding what the memory loss actually meant. To Roman and to him. This was a new Roman through and through. This was a stranger he had grown to get to know during their adventure in the Imagination, no matter how many little traces of the man he had known remained. It was still someone new wearing his face. 

Memories made a person. Losing memories was a death of a sort, because where did the soul start without them? The sum of your experiences, for better and for worse were what you were built on and Virgil wasn’t sure what was left without them.

Which meant that _this_ was why he was so worked up then? Was it grief masquerading as stress? His whole body and mind mourning the loss of the Roman he had known while trying to still handle the day to day moments, trying to keep going. He was mourning and there was a Roman right in front of him the whole time. Virgil took a deep breath as he tried to examine those feelings in particular. As he tried to pick them apart from the rest, to over-examine them to work out if it was deep sadness that had him on the cusp of a panic attack.

No, Virgil wasn’t going to grieve for Roman. To give in to those sorts of feelings would be akin to admitting that the old Roman was never coming back. That he had lost his friend and Virgil wasn’t ready for that. It didn’t mean that he was rejecting this Roman. There wasn’t anything stopping him from loving this Roman as well, was there? Why couldn’t he love both of them? They were both different sides of the same coin, they were both Roman and Virgil had to just keep telling himself that. He had to keep reminding himself that it was okay to like them both. It was okay to want to try and recover the memories because both Roman’s would still be there. 

So why did it still felt like a betrayal, no matter which way he twisted the prism of his thoughts? 

Virgil swallowed the glass of water in one long chunk, as if he could drown the rising tide of self loathing that was threatening to engulf him. Hand still trembled as he numbly washed the glass up, taking his time to dry it properly and then return it to the cupboard. Movements were slow, sluggish, a direct contrast to the way in which his mind was racing. It was as though Virgil could either think fast or move fast, but not both at the same time. He was trying to delay the inevitable Virgil knew that. He was deliberately taking his time in the hope that something would happen to make all the bad feelings go away.

As if some miracle would take place and all of the confusing, conflicting thoughts would join together to become some clear thought process. Something Virgil would not only understand exactly what he was feeling from all the different sources, but also he would know what to do next. While Virgil had never claimed to be anything other than cowardly, it still felt wrong to hide in the kitchen now that he had realised that was what he was doing. 

With a final deep breath, Virgil turned and moved back into the living room, his stomach pinched into a series of tight little knots. The water churned unpleasantly in his stomach, fighting with the knots to make Virgil regret having taken a drink in the first place. It was as though he had drunk some orange juice or something similarly acidic. Now was paying for it, stomach cramp almost distracting him from the mental pain he was feeling - if it wasn’t for the fact that the pain in his stomach was just another aspect of the pain in his head. 

Roman and Thomas were still seated together, the conversation having faded into silence. They looked almost as uncomfortable as Virgil felt and that was no doubt his influence seeping in. Thomas still picked at his food, although it looked as if he was doing it more to simply move his hands rather than actually eat anything. Countless mouthfuls were picked up and then placed back onto the plate without him tasting any of it. 

“We should go Roman,” Virgil said quietly, his hands shoved back into the pockets of his hoodie to hide the way they had curled into fists. That unease was just growing and growing with every passing second and what little good his detour into the kitchen had done had long since vanished.

“Yes of course,” Roman agreed and that was yet another thing that was all wrong, the constant agreeing with him. Virgil had always thought he would have loved to have Roman just agree with him, to not have every conversation be a constant battle. Now he wanted nothing more than for Roman to point out all his negative, defeatist words. The only reason they should go was because it was making Virgil feel bad, which was probably making Thomas feel bad but there were ways to resolve it beyond running away. Virgil just couldn’t think of them right now.

“Later Thomas,” Virgil said in farewell, fingers lifting to give the half salute he would sometimes use. Thomas’ eyes flickered upwards to meet his own for half a second before looking back down at his food. There was so much pain and confusion in that gaze that it took Virgil’s breath away but they were already sinking out. Virgil was unable to do anything but silently promise that he was going to do something to fix it, somehow. 

“I’ve come to a decision,” Roman told him seriously when they reappeared in the living room of the mind. He took a few steps away to stand almost in the center of the room, hands behind his back, shoulders straight, a man standing to attention - potentially in front of a firing squad but ready to do his duty no matter how unpleasant it might be. 

Virgil, in contrast, flopped down onto the couch as though all the strings holding his body upright had been cut in one fell swoop. He was exhausted, worn down by all the maybes and possibilities that had tried to swallow him whole. Even though nothing terrible had happened, he still felt drained, completely worn out by the ‘maybes’ that had plagued him. As well as that final look from Thomas, the cry for help that Virgil had felt all the way through his body. He needed to talk to Logan, to Patton, he needed to come up with some kind of plan as to what they were going to do next because ambling along in their current position just wasn’t cutting it.

Something it seemed as though Roman had decided on as well.

Virgil had a sinking feeling in his chest, as though he had swallowed a rock and it was working its way down his body. He already had a pretty good idea what it was that Roman wanted to talk about and it wasn’t a subject that Virgil really wanted to touch on. It was change and something new, something different. It promised yet another shift in a landscape that had already been stricken by earthquakes, and this was looking to be the greatest shake up yet.

If it was what he thought it was, then he would of course support Roman. Virgil could do nothing but support his friend, even if it worried him, even if he wondered if it was the right thing to do or not. 

“I don’t want you to call me Princey anymore. I don’t want anyone too. I’m not a Prince anyone and I’m not wearing that tunic and sash ever again,” Roman said, still standing squarely at attention, unable to so much as look at him. His gaze was fixed on the bottom of the stairs where, ironically, Virgil could have normally been sitting or standing had this been a video. It felt like a topic they would normally have covered together and Virgil wished the others were there. 

Logan would have probably welcomed the loss of the prince outfit and personality. He would’ve seen it as one less example of make believe to worry about. Patton would have approached it from a purely emotional standpoint, would’ve encouraged, supported or otherwise been the best kind of father that he could be. Even if he didn’t understand the why, he would have still let Roman make that kind of choice. Virgil could have gone either way, he might have encouraged it or pushed Roman to understand why he was doing what he was doing. Probably the latter, just to be contrary because he knew he would be able to do that safely with the others all around to stop things from getting too negative. 

Then Thomas would have kept them all on track and eventually they would have uncovered the real heart of the issue, would have found the sore spot that was hurting Roman and dealt with it. Even if he still decided to leave the Prince persona behind him, at least they would have reached a better understanding about it in the process. That was the way the videos normally went anyway, and it would have solved the problem in a neat little way complete with a moral at the end of it. 

Which normally made little goosebumps rise up on Virgil’s skin, the anxious side having to fight down the urge to flinch or vomit at the friendly friendly nice little message they managed to squeeze out of every problem. Sometimes... sometimes, things just sucked and there wasn’t anything deeper than that. Sometimes it was just something bad that needed to be dealt with. 

Right now, Virgil would take any cringe worthy message because it meant everyone else was here too, offering their own brand of advice to Roman who was still staring patiently ahead, waiting for Virgil’s reaction. 

But none of them were here. It was just Virgil he was telling this too, just Virgil who had to handle any fallout and somehow play every single role. Virgil who couldn’t be awkward for the sake of being awkward, who couldn’t even try and point out any flaws because there was nobody here to act as a balance for him, nobody to point out the positives and there had to be something positive in all of this. Even if Virgil couldn’t see anything positive, there had to be something... right? 

It would make Roman happy. That was enough. That had to be enough. 

Virgil hoped he was wrong. He was wrong a lot of the time after all, and would it have been so hard for the world to just let him be wrong one more time? But no, it had decided that this was the perfect time to finally let him be right about something. It hadn’t taken a genius to notice Roman’s growing unhappiness with the Princely persona he had spent so many years perfecting. If Roman wanted to change that then of course Virgil wasn't going to argue with him about it. There were so many other things they could argue about instead.

He just worried this came from a place of anxiety instead of anywhere good. 

If anyone understood the lengths anxiety could drive someone to behave, it was the literal embodiment of anxiety himself. 

“If that’s what you want Ro,” Virgil agreed and he tried not to flinch at the way Roman smiled so brightly at him, so warmly. As if Virgil’s approval _mattered_ to him in some new, giant way. Roman was always a little insecure, always seeking validation from any source that he could. But this felt different from Roman simply preening because someone agreed with him. It felt a lot more personal and important, a lot more as though Roman had been wanting to hear those words from Virgil alone. 

Otherwise why would he only tell him? This was something he was going to have to tell everyone at some point after all, and yet Roman had made the choice to tell Virgil alone and first, had tested the waters to get his response first. 

“I do want,” Roman assured him, an earnest look on his face. He somehow looked younger, transformed, as if the years had been lifted from him, a great weight off his shoulders. Virgil wished he felt as relaxed as that, rather than feeling his influence stretch out thinly, lurking in every shadow of the room as he waited for some ill defined something to lash out at him. 

At least it couldn’t get much worse than this.

“And I also want to watch the videos Thomas mentioned, the ones we’re all in.”

... damn him and his thoughts, jinxing the whole thing to hell. How was Virgil going to convince Roman that Anxiety was still to be trusted after he had seen the videos? How was he going to keep this friendship when Roman realised just how bad of a villian Virgil had once been?


	10. What is Up Everybody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! We are finally starting to kick things up a notch in this story and get into the real meat. Just when Roman thinks he has a handle on things... he doesn’t. I hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know what you think. Love you all. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### What is Up Everybody

** **

If Roman didn’t know better, he would think Virgil was up to something. The anxious side had been almost cagey and jumpy since Roman’s grand announcement that he wanted to see the content they all worked on and made together. You would have thought Roman had said he wanted to commit some form of crime. Perhaps attack one of the other sides rather than something as simple as watch some footage. He didn’t seem to want Roman to watch the videos, the so called Sanders Sides episodes. That much was painfully obvious.

Virgil's reluctance just made Roman that much more curious. More determined to actually view them but he also felt caught in a bind. He didn’t really want to sneak around to watch them. It felt as though he was somehow betraying Virgil if he watched them in secret. Virgil hadn’t exactly asked him not to watch them of course. Really, the anxious side hadn’t said much of anything about the videos. He had merely looked as though he was caught in some kind of trap, eyes darting around the room rapidly before changing the subject awkwardly. 

He had left pretty quickly, leaving Roman alone in the living room, a heavy weight in his chest. It should have been an easy decision to make. Watch the videos, learn about them all or remain in the dark as lost and as confused as ever. 

There was still that nagging little whisper in the back of his mind that worried he shouldn’t watch them because the mere idea had upset Virgil. 

Roman needed more advice on what to do. Not to mention he had to tell everyone else that he wasn't a prince anymore. Roman wasn’t really sure what he was going to be in its place - a wizard to rival his apparent enemy the White One? A scholar because his new focus was on learning as much as he could about everything he could? A cowboy because cowboys were just cool? 

Or maybe he could just try being Roman for a little while and see how that felt. 

First though, there was still the issue of the videos and understanding who he had once been. In the end, Roman had gone to Patton to explain that he wasn’t a prince anymore. The moral side looked close to tears at the news. Roman felt the pain in his chest increase more at the sight of Patton’s reaction. He hadn’t wanted to make anyone unhappy and yet ever since his visit to Thomas it had felt as though he had done nothing but, as though every choice made had been a terrible one. Patton had shifted from upset to evasive when Roman mentioned the videos. 

Why were they all so determined to keep this from him? What were they all trying to hide? 

There was certainly something. Patton didn’t seem the best at keeping secrets, and he fidgeted in his seat so many times since Roman had first mentioned the videos. He bit down on his lip at least three times to swallow down some words that wanted to escape, some truth that for whatever reason Patton was attempting to hide. Roman really wanted to know whatever it was that Patton was trying not to say. Was curiosity a part of being creativity? Because it certainly was eating away at him, the desire to just know everything, to understand. 

Roman was trying his best to keep an open mind about everything, about them, about the past, about who they all really were. He was really trying to stay positive, to not let his doubts or uncertainties creep and overwhelm him. It was hard when his imagination was running riot, when every word and gesture spawned a whole new universe for him to play in. All sorts of possibilities ran through his mind and Roman knew he would never have any peace until he discovered the truth.

Patton had tried his best. He spent so long gushing about Roman, talking about all the brave and noble things he had done in the past. He lingered on the day in which Roman revealed he had the power to conjure up puppies. Patton’s face broke into the brightest possible smile as he remembered that moment, as he imagined the feel of a dog in his arms. Roman wished he could remember how to do that right now, that he could make Patton honestly that happy all over again.

His... powers, if that was the right word for them, felt sluggish in this room. Although if the Imagination had magnified them when he was there it would explain it. It had helped so he could overcome the mental block his lack of memory provided. Out here, there was no such aid and although he tried to mentally reach out, Roman just felt self conscious and silly about it. Not to mention there was no dog to match the story Patton was still telling. 

Virgil had done something similar during the long snowy night back in the other world. He had been full of stories about them, more recent events - because, as Roman couldn’t help but remember, Virgil grew up in a very different way to the rest of them and Roman couldn’t help but feel that there was so much more to that story than he currently knew. Just as there was so much more to every story he had been told. It hadn’t escaped Roman’s notice that Patton hadn’t told him _why_ he had felt the need to conjure puppies that one time.

Those were all good stories and ones he enjoyed hearing, ones he wanted to hear more of. It fed into a vanity that Roman was gradually learning he possessed, an ego that demanded more and more good things about himself. 

There was only so much that someone else could tell him though. For better or for worse, someone else’s story would always have some bias, even if it was just an unconscious one. It would flavour how they saw him or certain acts he had done and what might have seemed to be nothing more than a harmless joke from Patton's perspective for example, could take on far more sinister undertones from the viewpoint of the constantly pessimistic Virgil.

Which meant that he needed to see actual evidence with his own eyes. He needed to see those videos. Roman just hoped he wasn’t going to regret it. Patton hadn’t told him not to either. He had left him with the words that he was sure he would do the right thing but to rest before making a choice. 

He was done with being passive, with resting and letting someone else save him. The previous attempt to do something on his own terms might not have ended in the way he had originally planned, but Roman didn’t think the trek through the Imagination was entirely a waste. He had gotten closer to Virgil for a start, he had begun to make the choice about what kind of side he wanted to be now. Could it really be considered a failure? 

Just because it hadn’t succeed in the original plan, that didn’t mean it hadn’t succeed at all. He had made a decision to press forward, to forge his own destiny and some more rest was the last thing he needed. It wasn't going to change anything. 

With a deep breath, Roman sank back into the real world, intent on finding Thomas’ computer and seeing just what all the fuss was about. 

\--

This was going to end terribly and it was all Virgil's fault. 

Somehow feelings had appeared, somehow, in someway, Virgil realised he had grown attached, had grown weak and now he was going to pay the price for lowering his guard, for thinking even for a moment that he might do better this time around. Virgil tricked himself into hoping that maybe - just maybe - he could have Roman’s friendship without the pain and struggle of what came before. He had tried to forget who he really was. As though he could escape his past, as if he could sweep all those inconvenient truths under a rug and pretend that he hadn’t been the villain of the piece. 

If Deceit was here, he would no doubt point out what a terrible hypocrite Virgil really was. Demanding that they accept who he had once been, that the ‘phase’ of him when he scared them was just as real and as worthy of attention as the ‘softer’ Virgil he had become. The one that was willing to work with them so long as they worked with him in return. And yet the moment - the very _second_ \- it seemed as though he could avoid the consequences of his past, the moment he thought he could escape that phase by having Roman forget he had ever once been the big bad Anxiety, Virgil had greedily grabbed it with both hands. He had even hesitated so long in telling Roman what he really was. What he represented because Virgil had been so terrified that it might trigger bad memories. 

Any memories should have been good, should have been grabbed upon because it meant Roman was starting to remember everything. But if he was going to be honest with himself - and alone in his room, where his fears and worries were magnified it was hard to be anything but brutally honest - he had been so afraid that Roman would remember he hated him. 

Virgil lifted a hand to his head, lightly tugging on his hair as he paced up and down in front of his bed. Each twist of his legs as he turned was accompanied by a pull on his hair. The dull little aches kept him grounded, stopped him from floating away completely into the void that was his own panic. Each little tug also reminded him of what was happening somewhere in the mind, possibly right this second. 

Roman was going to watch the videos. He was going to see what Virgil was really like and then he was going to hate him all over again. Which Virgil knew he deserved but he had so quickly become used to the idea of not being hated. It had been like an addiction, the rush of being trusted, of being _liked_ without the lingering memory of who he had once been in the back of their mind. 

It just proved how terrible of a side he really was. That while Virgil had wanted Roman to get his memory back, there had also been this part of him which had wanted things to remain lost and hidden. That had hoped he could wipe the slate clean without Roman ever once knowing that it had any bad writing on it to start with. It wasn’t just Virgil’s own failures that pressed in on him however, that refused to grant him any sort of peace. It would be almost normal if all he had to worry about was his own mistakes, almost reassuring because at least he could try and contain his own folly. 

At least Virgil could twist his own thinking until the only person he was hurting with his mistakes was himself but he didn't even have the luxury of knowing that. Everyone was hurting while Virgil had been cruel enough to find some enjoyment in the pain. He wanted things to stay hidden when he should have been fighting so hard to bring the truth to light. He should have pushed Roman further into investigating the truth. He should have kept them in the Imagination until they had an answer, no matter what.

He should have done something better than what he actually did. A scowl settled on his features as he made another little sharp turn in front of his bed, another little tug on his hair. His breathing was rapid and uneven. Virgil could sense himself on the cusp of a panic attack as his thoughts led him down an increasingly dark path. 

If he wanted to avoid both the physical and mental pain that came with a panic attack, then Virgil knew he had to stop thinking about this. He had to force his mind to focus on anything other than the situation that was making him so stressed. Not that he deserved to avoid a panic attack. He had been so evil and brought so much pain on those he claimed to love. Feeling a little of that pain back seemed the least he deserved for all of that. 

So Virgil kept on thinking, kept on wondering.

They were still no closer to the ‘who’ or the ‘why’ and frankly Roman's lack of interest in those questions was starting to get on Virgil’'s nerves just a bit. The White Wizard was a title, it was a shadowy form without any substance, without any face behind it. It was an idea rather than a fully realised person, at least in the state that it had shown itself to them. 

Someone had been behind it, someone had wanted to do this to Roman for whatever reason. Someone had been playing the puppet master, had been controlling and choreographing the tragedy as it played out in front of them. 

The Dragon Witch? She certainly saw Roman as her arch nemesis and would have delighted in seeing him brought low, in making him lose his memory, his sense of identity. She would have loved to know that he didn’t plan to be a Prince anymore, that he almost certainly wasn’t going to be a Knight either. 

Somehow though, Virgil didn’t think it was her. This was her style true - magic and misdirection to the deed - but at the same time she enjoyed the limelight too much. It would have been a witch not a wizard if she had been the guiding hand behind it all. She would have been unable to resist appearing to gloat about what she had done if it had been her, she would have wanted to see the results of her handiwork up close and personal. 

Not to mention Virgil would have expected to see some surge in her activities in other parts of the Imagination because taking away Roman’s memories would have been merely one part of her plan. It would have been the distraction she used to try and take control of the areas of the Imagination that Roman tried to keep safe from her. Yet there had been nothing of the sort. 

Then there was the why. Why do this in the first place? What could the Dragon Witch or any of the nasties running around really gain from removing Roman from the equation? 

Yes, it meant that Roman wasn’t there to stop them anymore, that they could try and take over because he wasn’t there to battle them but that just denied their purpose as well as Roman’s own. They were designed to enjoy the chase, to be a nemesis and it was hard to defeat your enemy when they no longer knew who they were, let alone who you were. Without Roman to battle, they would just fight each other, would potentially tear each other to shreds - and who knew what that would do to Thomas’ psyche. None of them wanted that, because villains or no, they were still fragments of his mind and as a result, they needed his mind whole to stay intact themselves. 

It couldn’t be her. But if not her, then who?

She was the most elaborate of all the enemies that Roman conjured into being, she was the one with the most personality, the most spark. She was Roman’s favorite if they were honest and when Virgil had been younger he had been jealous, in a twisted sort of way of the Dragon Witch. At least Roman wanted to spend time with her, even if it did normally end up with her dead. 

None of which helped him right now. 

This was getting him nowhere. His thoughts were just running around and around in an endless circle, looping back on themselves until he was thinking the same thoughts over and over again. There was something else going on, something just beyond his reach, fingers constantly closing around thin air, his frustration growing with each failed attempt. Virgil could feel his heart beat faster every time he went back to the start of his thought process, his breathing getting more and more shallow in time with his racing heart. 

The pain from his hair kept him from losing it completely. As much as Virgil wanted to suffer a panic attack, wanted to make himself pay for what he had done, he knew also that he didn’t deserve that. He would be no help at all if he took the cowards way out. Somehow, Virgil had to work out a way to fix this.

He threw himself onto his bed with a frustrated grunt, something rustling under his stomach as he landed. Frowning, Virgil rolled onto his side, reaching down to pull out a slightly dented and crumpled up envelope, his name written in bold letters on the front. 

There hadn’t been an envelope there when he had left his room earlier. Virgil wanted to say that there wasn’t an envelope there when he had gotten back as well, but he couldn’t remember even looking at his bed. He had been too caught up in his own misery and self loathing, his hands already finding his head as he had relentlessly paced. What was worse? That he hadn’t noticed it sitting there this whole time that he had been in the room? Or that somehow, someone had been able to creep in while he was distracted and leave it while he had his back turned to it?

Either way, he wasn’t as aware and alert as he should have been. Not enough coffee in his system clearly, and more importantly, yet another failure to add to the ever growing list of mistakes. Virgil sighed heavily as he forced himself back into some kind of upright position, legs curled up under him. Fingers brushed over the ink of his name, and some part of Virgil knew that he was just trying to delay having to open it. But he really, _really_, didn't want to have to open it.

The envelope screamed danger at him, his nerves strung out on the thinnest of threads and so close to snapping completely.

The lettering was very familiar, the sight of the hand writing tugging at a distant memory. It spoke to his past, to a time and place that Virgil had never wanted to revisit. There had been very little that had been good about his life growing up and upon moving in properly with the dominant sides of Thomas, Virgil had made the choice to cut all contact with his old life. Even the one part that had made him hesitant, had made him doubt if he was doing the right thing.

It had been... complicated. It had been hard as well, to leave behind the semi good with all of the bad but it was a choice that Virgil had known he needed to make. For his own sanity as well as Thomas’ safety. He couldn’t continue being one thing and another at the same time. He couldn’t remain in those shadows and he hoped that it could be understood. Virgil didn’t go so far as to hope it would be forgiven by the side he had once called brother. 

Even when Deceit started showing up in the videos, Virgil had avoided talking to him. He had felt his own hurt at what the other side had done mix hopelessly with his own guilt until all he could do was lash out with ever increasing anger. He needed Deceit to go away so he could go back to ignoring his own past, so he could deny there was anything there to think about.

It had been working pretty well up to now, up to this moment when he had to pull a letter from an envelope that was written in a hand he hadn’t seen for years but knew as well as his own. As well he should, considering it had been Deceit who had taught him how to write in the first place. 

Slowly, he unfolded the piece of paper, brown eyes widening first in shock and then in anger as he began to read what was written there. Words that confirmed all of his suspicions and fears. Words that went so much further than even Virgil had ever dreamed and it felt as though a blindfold had been ripped from his eyes.

The more he read, the angrier he became.

\--

_“Princey’s never liked Anxiety, that’s his problem!”_

Hand shot out, Roman blindly flailing at the keyboard. It didn’t matter which buttons he pressed, so long as he managed to get rid of the god awful noise, of all the evidence which proved to chilling effect just how terrible his behaviour towards Virgil really was. The video paused but not before Thomas slipped into a flashback scene, showing all the times Roman had been rude to Virgil - as though Roman needed those reminders, when each one lay bitter and brittle in the pit of his stomach. 

Roman had thought he would have been able to take it. 

In the back of his mind, Roman hadn’t been able to shake the lingering worry of what the videos might show him. Some part of him knew that there was undoubtedly something in them that he wouldn’t like - why else would Virgil and Patton appear so unwilling for him to watch them? Foolishly, the doubt, the what ifs and maybes curled around his mind and squeezed, refusing to let go. They had pulsated and tormented Roman until he ended up giving in, pushing aside the doubts in order to finally learn the truth. It was going to be bad. Roman accepted that it was going to be bad.

He just hadn’t expected just how bad and what he had actually seen would be. 

To see himself be such a dastardly... villain towards Virgil. To constantly drag him down, to never once give him the chance or take an extra second or two to really consider what the other side was trying to actually say. The Roman in those videos seemed as far away from the friend that Virgil had said they were as it was possible to be. Some part of him even wondered if what he had witnessed was nothing more than a fever dream. That perhaps he was asleep and would wake up with a little drool on his face. Maybe even with an imprint from the keyboard and be relieved that none of this was real.

But no. Roman knew full well that he was awake, that this was proof positive of how he had really treated Virgil in the past. He couldn’t deny the truth of what there was in the videos. The evidence was right there in full colour and techinical surround sound. It would no doubt haunt his dreams at night, each blink impressing a snapshot of pain behind his eyes, all waiting for him to lower his guard so that they could slam into his psyche to devastating effect. 

Virgil’s face as he sank down out of the video where they were trying to dispel the creativity block that seemed to be in place, when that Roman of the past was so determined to make some totally original. As though that was the only important factor in creating something new, that it was just that - new. Virgil’s face would haunt him and he consoled himself with the thought that he almost certainly hadn’t noticed it at the time. 

It didn’t help much. It just made him worry that the Roman he had once been was too caught up in his own stuff to even wonder about anyone else. And surely Roman watched the videos when they aired, would have noticed it then? If only to read the comments and get useful feedback. 

Then there had been the very first video they had interacted when that Roman muttered that he couldn’t stand that guy - and Thomas agreed. It ended a similar way, Roman stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that their connection was anything of the sort, instead stubbornly clinging to the claim that he still didn’t like Anxiety.

After that, there was the fact they had made him fly in the cartoon video even though Virgil had expressly stated how much he hated it. How the Roman cartoon had caught a falling unwilling victim with the cheery comment that everyone loves a villain. As though that was the only important thing and not the fact that Virgil was against the whole thing to start with. No, it was all about Roman and his desires, all about Thomas living out his dreams. There was nothing wrong with the later of course, but why had they insisted on making Virgil be something he didn’t want to be?

Worst of all, was this latest video. The whole thing felt like an attack on Virgil as soon as they realised he was missing. For Roman to outright say ‘I don’t like him’ when Virgil wasn’t even around to defend himself, talking about him so negatively behind his back. It was hardly the actions of someone who claimed to be a brave and noble prince. 

The videos all conspired to paint a very different picture of who Roman ‘Creativity’ Sanders really was, someone who seemed a stranger compared to the tales that the others would share about him. 

There were more videos in the playlist and it was obvious that they had gone to find Virgil, that he had opened up to them because he was Virgil now, not Anxiety. Because he was in the thumbnails of other videos. Because he smiled and joked around with them and Thomas never flinched when he appeared in the living room. Things had become better, and yet Roman failed to understand how.

How could Virgil have forgiven him? After everything, after every mean word, mean nickname, mean look. How could he possibly find it in his heart to forgive Roman for the dreadful way in which he behaved?

The later videos would answer those questions. 

Roman still didn’t want to watch them, hand shaking as he closed the window instead. He didn’t want to see himself redeemed and forgiven because Roman couldn’t understand how they could do that. He didn’t want to see what excuses they made to explain or hand wave away his behaviour. He didn’t even want to see it if it was a serious talk about his behaviour because it all just made him sick to his very stomach. 

The Creativity in that video was firmly against going after Virgil in the first place and yet now they were friends? Good friends, close friends, because Virgil had known a lot about him. Virgil cared enough about him to watch and wait at the Wardrobe, and that wasn’t something a casual friend would do. It wasn’t something he believed the Roman in the videos would do for Virgil and yet Virgil cared enough about him to do it. 

The Prince in that video had never liked Virgil it seemed. 

Those words rang around and around in his head. The almost cheerful way in which Thomas was able to casually prove with numerous examples the fact that Roman didn’t like Anxiety and never had. There was too much joy in that moment for what felt like it should be something crushing instead because really what did it say about Roman? Even ignoring Virgil’s good qualities, the fact that he was so against accepting a part of Thomas just felt... wrong. Their host needed to accept all elements of himself because they all made up Thomas. The sight of him without any Anxiety at all was a truly terrifying one.

And then of course, there was the simple fact that Virgil could be good. True, Virgil hadn’t always behaved in a shining positive example. Indeed, a lot of the time, it was almost understandable why the rest of them had been afraid of him at times. Why they had fought to deny him any input. Still, there was a difference between that, between honest uncertainty yet still keeping an open mind and the way in which Roman seemed to be obsessed with shutting down any and every attempt to see Virgil as anything other than a cartoon villain. Quite literally, in one video. 

Maybe he was right in the videos to be mistrustful of Virgil, to be unsure. After all, there was a lot more going on than just what the videos showed. There was a whole lifetime before them as well as all the countless days and weeks between episodes, all the unseen moments that could fill in so many blanks, answer so many questions. Things that he was no longer sure that he wanted to know because the chance that he was just mean to Virgil day in, day out was way too high. Roman wasn’t strong enough at this moment to handle that knowledge, not on top of what he already felt. 

Maybe... just maybe, Creativity was doing what he was supposed to do, in wanting to leave Anxiety to whatever fate was in store for him when he didn’t appear in that video. 

But from an outsider's perspective, no longer constricted by whatever history Roman still didn’t know, he couldn’t help but find himself siding firmly on the ‘more sinned against than sinning’ when it came to Virgil. From a cold perspective without any sense of untold moments, without any other knowledge than this, Roman was on the anxious sides... side. 

Roman didn’t know that version of himself. 

He didn’t _want_ to ever know that version of himself. 

The memories that he once chased suddenly felt toxic, poison that would leech every good moment from him and leave him as cold and as cruel as the version of himself he had seen on the computer screen. He didn’t want to become that person, he didn’t want to be a villain. It was a blessing, having lost his memories, getting to start again, to do better and Roman was determined to take full advantage of it. This was more than just changing his mind about being a Prince. This was changing his mind about everything that he had once been. Perhaps there had been good in him, there were moments that Roman had been proud to be the prince on the screen. 

It was time for a change though. Time to embrace this new person he had become, and if that meant he didn’t have those memories then so much the better. 

Roman lifted a hand to wipe at his eyes, trying to rub the stinging sensation away but each swipe came away wet, tears instantly welling up to replace the ones he had managed to get rid of. At least he was no longer dressed in the white tunic of his princey persona, something Roman was very grateful about. He felt sick enough as it was and seeing himself looking just like the monster in the video would have been too much for his mind to cope with right now. 

Roman had opted for a Letterman style red and white jacket he had found while rifling through Thomas’ memories, with a faded gold shirt and jeans. He still wasn’t really sure about the outfit but that was fine. It was going to take a little time to find his style, to find where he was going to fit in this new world he was creating for himself. It was still a start and right now he would take any progress he could get. 

Virgil. Roman needed to find Virgil, needed to get down on his hands and knees and beg forgiveness. Not only for how he had acted back then, but for the suddenly terrible sin of wanting to remember all of this in the first place. He didn’t want to become the sort of person who only saw the advantages in not having Anxiety around. 

With a deep breath, he slipped back into the mind, barely noticing Patton bustling around the kitchen as he reappeared. After a second to glance around and see that Virgil wasn’t in either the living room or the kitchen with Patton, Roman headed up the stairs, ignoring his name being called. 

He would apologise to Patton in a moment. It could be added to the list of sins that he had committed, ones that could never be washed clean but that was a worry for later. All Roman could think about was the videos, all he could see was Virgil’s devastated expression time and time again. Amends had to be made on that subject first of all. 

Virgil wasn’t in his room.

Roman could feel faint tendrils of panic try and reach out to wrap themselves around him at that, the lack of Virgil too striking a comparison to the video he had half watched to be anything other than unsettling. What if he had vanished again? What if Roman had somehow pushed him away? He spun rapidly on his heel, almost storming out of the empty room and down the corridor. Where else was there to look? Maybe he was in one of the others’ rooms? Or maybe he had missed him downstairs, he had only taken the briefest of seconds to look before charging on up here.

He was so focused on trying to get to Virgil that he didn’t notice the moral side coming down the corridor until he was quite literally bumping into him, Patton swerving to the side just a fraction of a second too late to avoid contact altogether. Roman wobbled, hands at once reaching out to steady Patton who looked equally unsteady, a storm of emotions brewing in those warm brown eyes as he looked at him. 

“Sorry Patton!” Roman felt a big gulp of air escape him as he apologised, the creative side forcing down the urge to cry once more. He was not going to give into these emotions, not yet. 

“That’s okay kiddo... are you okay? You know you can talk to me.” Patton looked concerned as he spoke, one hand lifting to rest lightly on Roman’s arm, supporting him and it just made him want to cry all the more. To sob his heart out, to explain to Patton everything he saw, everything he felt and how he couldn’t understand why Virgil would have anything to do with him. Roman did know that he could talk to Patton. He knew how easy it would be - but then again, he didn’t deserve easy. And he certainly didn’t deserve to be comforted on his behaviour when he hadn’t even spoken to Virgil about it. 

“Have you seen Virgil anywhere? He isn’t in his room and I just- I really need to speak to him first. No offensive, its just I can’t let this moment slip me by.” 

“Oh... he went back to the Imagination.” Patton's words chilled him even further and even thoughts of crying turned to ice in his mind and any tears that would fall felt as if they would be frozen as the chilling implications of what Patton was actually saying. There were all sorts of reasons as to why Virgil had gone there of course but try as Roman might, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was not for any good reason.

“What? Why?” Roman half whispered his questions as if the volume could somehow change the answer that Patton was about to give. The other side cocked his head to the side, expression open and puzzled. 

“I think he had some new information about your memory, he shot out of here like a man on a mission holding a piece of paper.” 

No. 

Just as he feared. There was a way to restore his memory, a way that of course Virgil had learnt and of course he would do what he felt was right. Maybe he thought he was doing Roman a favour, maybe he thought this was what he would want and it didn’t matter what Virgil might want. If the videos had taught Roman anything, it was that the mindset seemed to be, ignore Virgil and whatever he wanted. His friend was just that type of person on top of it all, always so willing to go above and beyond, to push his own discomfort aside and put others first. 

Virgil hadn’t wanted to go on a trip through the snow in the first place but he had. Just because Roman had wanted to do it. He seemed to make sacrifices like that all the time without anyone else even noticing he was doing it. This had to be one of those times.

Why else would he willingly try and bring back to life a version of someone who was that cruel to him, who had seemed to cause him nothing but pain? Virgil couldn’t bring back that version of Roman, he couldn’t bring back that monster. Roman didn’t want to become that person again, no matter what the others might think.

And where did that leave him? Wasn’t he as important as that Roman? Didn’t his own views matter? His own desire not to be a Prince, not to be cold and cruel under the guise of friendship. He was real - as real as any of them could be - and his own person right now. He didn’t want to vanish, to be smothered under the memories and have someone else in his place. 

“I have to find him,” Roman mumbled, slipping past Patton and almost falling down the stairs in his haste to reach the bottom where thankfully the Wardrobe still stood. He didn’t know how much of a head start Virgil had or where exactly he was going to go within the Imagination but that wasn’t going to stop Roman. He needed to go after Virgil, he needed to find him so that he could explain. Anything to try and stop Virgil from unleashing that horror upon the mind once more.


	11. It’s the End of the World as We Know it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments, it really makes my day to know that you have been all enjoying it. To those of you who left a comment I’ve not had a chance to reply to yet, I have read them and I will answer. Life has just been a little... crazy for me at the moment. This particular chapter has been sitting beta-ed by the ever wonderful Kat and ready to go for a while now but I’ve only just had the chance to do anything with it.
> 
> So thank you again, this time for your patience. 
> 
> I hope this chapter is worth the wait, it is time to learn some things!
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### It’s the End of the World as We Know it

** **

He hit the snow running. Virgil wobbled and almost face planted into the deep drifts that had somehow sprung up around the entrance since the last time he had been here. The whole landscape seemed transformed, barely even recognizable as a forest. The trees groaned and laboured under the intense layer of snow that carpeted every visible inch.

Before, Virgil had thought there was snow everywhere. Looking at it now, he realised that he hadn't understood the meaning of a lot of snow. because this? This was nothing but a sea of white, deep swells and rises of waves only hinting at the world that existed below. The snow had crowded out every little detail of what had once been such a lovely created forest scape.

Countless branches and whole trees laid sideways in the snow, brought down by the weight of the snow upon them, unable to handle it any longer. He was only aware of the branches when he stepped on them, feeling the crack and snap underfoot as snow gave way to hard wood. It was next to impossible for Virgil to move through the unseen minefield that had been created out of twisted bark at more than a snail's pace, struggling and flailing against the snow.

Thick tree trunks had withstood the ravages of the snow slightly better but even they were starting to become lost to the white, little more than mounds marking their burial places. Give it a couple more days and he almost felt as if they too would become part of a flat landscape, lurking in wait for any unwary traveller. Give it enough time and the whole forest would become nothing more than a field of white.

Something had gone terribly wrong here. This was a wreck and ruin of a slowly dying world. Virgil had the misfortune to be caught in the eye of the storm, a breath where everything was suspended between the moment and even the snowflakes had slowed, hovering in the air around him.

It was beautiful and terrible in equal measures - and right now, unimportant.

With a snarl, Virgil slapped away at the snow. He barely noticed the chill on his hands as he pushed himself properly upright, wobbling and weaving between snowbanks. The path was still there, to a degree. A foot or two less snow than the rest of the forest, winding its way down towards where the lamppost was. Where hopefully it still remained. All Virgil had to do was get there. One step at a time, one goal at a time and if he could just reach that, then he could worry about what to do next. 

He didn't have time to mourn the end of this place. No matter how sad and painfully beautiful it was to see the end of an idea.

He didn't have time to wonder what was causing it. If perhaps Roman's rejection of being a Prince, along with everything that made the creative side who he was, had caused this decay.

He didn’t even have time to wonder if what he was searching for was still here - it just had to be. 

There was no time to do anything. The collapsing world merely gave him the motivation to keep moving, to try and get to where he needed to go while there was still time. He had to make it to the ice palace. He had to find the stolen memories while he could. Virgil couldn’t shake the very real worry that if this place died, then any chance he had at finding Roman’s memories would die with it. 

Rage motivated him, kept him moving as he half ran, half waded through snow that rose higher than his knees, higher than his waist at times. Virgil stumbled and fell more times than he cared to admit, but he refused to let the cold get the better of him, refused to just give up. It was far too easy to want to give up and crawl back to the rest of the mind where it was warm and safe. Where Roman suffered, where he was lost and confused. Virgil couldn’t let it end like this. 

The lamppost came into view after what felt like an eternity. A tiny circle of green grass surrounded it. The lamppost’s light flickered and spluttered as if it too was struggling against the impossible snow that hung in the air around them. It at least was still moving - a light that flashed in and out of existence rather like a lonely lighthouse battling against a never ending storm. 

The shadows cast by the hundreds of suspended snowflakes danced over the white expanse of snow. They cast various patterns which blazed into existence every few seconds before vanishing again. It was the only movement in this otherwise desolate world. It felt like an anchor, something for Virgil to mentally cling onto as he staggered towards the metal post. A few paths trailed off in all directions, some more visible than others. 

Somehow, the lamppost still managed to stay warm enough to melt the tiny patch around it, holding the whole force of winter at bay. A tiny part of Virgil wondered how long it would be before even that was defeated by the snow. Before that slowly fading light vanished into the eternal dark and then nothing was left. The rest of him just felt relieved that it was still there at all, that this frozen breath of a moment still had hope within it. Even if the hope was just a magic light. 

Hand curled around the metal trunk like post, clinging to it for dear life as though the light fitting was the only thing keeping Virgil from falling down. His whole body trembled from the effort of getting this far as well as all the pent up anger and emotions he felt whenever he thought of the letter which rested in his hoodie pocket. It felt as though it was made of marble instead of paper, weighing him down with every step he took.

The black metal was slightly warm to the touch. Not enough to cause any kind of discomfort but enough to make him want to lean into it. To let the warmth soothe him and take away all his cares and worries. Virgil wanted to close his eyes and just lean into the imaginary embrace, to forget about the struggle but he couldn’t. Or perhaps more accurately, he wouldn’t. Not when he had a mission. 

“Hwin,” Virgil croaked, his voice sounding thin and feeble against the great expanse. 

What if she didn’t come? What if she too was frozen like the snow, the whole world nothing more than a moment between blinks? No matter how angry he felt, no matter how determined he was, Virgil didn’t think he would be able to cover the distance needed in time. 

“Hwin!” His voice echoed around the clearing, trees and snow magnifying it as fear pumped through him, giving him the strength to properly cry out. 

“Virgil! You have returned!” Hwin suddenly appeared around a corner, trotting briskly towards him as though she had been passing by chance and just so happened to hear him. Virgil knew better however. Things didn’t happen like that here. There was a power behind things, a woven thread in the narrative that meant she would have been always passing close by. No matter where the mare might have actually been minutes before. She didn’t seem to notice or care about the suspended flakes, merely passing through them as if it was completely normal for the snow to not land. 

Did she not see the frozen snow? Did she not know what it meant? Maybe it was a blessing, a way for her character to continue to function despite the collapsing star aspect of the world. Maybe Virgil should point it out to her, maybe he should let her know that this world wouldn’t exist much longer, and by implication neither would she. Let Hwin come to terms with that knowledge. However there was no time for those kinds of mercies. He would feel guilty about it later, would hate himself later - but he had to place Roman above a talking horse. 

“I need to get to the ice palace,” Virgil explained, pushing himself away from the lamppost as he unsteadily made his way over to her. “Please, Hwin, can you get me there?” 

“You wish to ride into the lair of the White Wizard?” Hwin sounded horrified. She shook her head urgently, large, brown eyes staring at him. Strangely, Virgil didn’t doubt that Hwin knew the way to the ice palace, that the memory was somewhere in her mind. “That is death Virgil.”

“He won't harm me.” Virgil's voice sounded a lot more confident than he really felt, hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck. The... Wizard wouldn’t kill him. Or, so Virgil hoped at least. He certainly wouldn’t hurt him at any rate. 

How could he hurt him anymore than he already had? How could he do anything that could hurt more than stealing Roman away from them all? 

“... Are you certain you want to do this?”

“I am. It is the only way to help Roman,” Virgil assured her seriously. She looked away for a moment, tail swishing restlessly from side to side as she considered his words before letting out a heavy snort.

“Very well. Come, it isn’t too far from here.” 

At her words, Virgil carefully climbed onto her back, trying to settle himself comfortably and safely there. Riding a horse never got any easier. He didn’t know how Roman could stand it, the constant swaying, the fact your safety was in the hands - hooves - of someone else and there was only so much you could do to keep yourself upright. The dangers that could happen if you fell or if your horse was injured and rolled. There were so many stories on the internet about people who had been crushed or stomped on by a horse and died as a result. 

He knew that Hwin wouldn’t do any of that to him on purpose. Or at least, he hoped she wouldn't. But that didn’t mean it would happen. Accidents were a thing after all. 

Virgil swallowed heavily and fixed his eyes on a tree a little ahead of them as they started to move. He did his best to not think of the way the world was rising and falling rather as though he was on a boat. He really didn’t want to get travel sick on a horse, that would just be embarrassing, but it was something he worried about. As though Virgil needed anything else to worry about. 

Maybe it was the Imagination twisting in on itself. The world growing smaller, more contained as it bent back. As they emerged from the tree line, his stomach somehow still holding his lunch, Virgil could already see what had to be the ice palace rising up on the horizon. Maybe without Roman here, it was able to pick up on Virgil’s wishes and desires more easily. Right now, there was nothing he wanted more than to see those tall blue white spires which signified what he hoped was the lair of the White Wizard. 

It was certainly visually impressive and only grew more so the closer they got to it. The whole thing seemed to be carved out of one giant block of ice, an imposing and endless expanse of blinding white which was designed to overaw and intimidate. They reached a giant arch which towered high above them, a path leading through it towards the actual building. Pale yellow lights lit the way but the flames felt cold when he reached a hand towards one of them, more ice than heat. 

There were no guards, no signs of any traps or hunts they were being watched and yet Virgil didn't doubt that the White Wizard knew full well he was here. He was expected, after all. 

“Thank you Hwin,” he whispered as he carefully dismounted, legs trembling slightly as they tried to adjust to solid and unmoving ground once more. Virgil swallowed as he looked up at the sheer surface of ice. The sight of it caused him to feel small and suddenly uncertain. Where was that rage he had nurtured so carefully when he needed it? It would take courage to pass through the gates and face what he already knew was waiting for him inside, courage that Virgil certainly didn’t feel right now. 

The snow was still hovering, suspended in the amber of this moment. Virgil couldn’t just leave it like that. He couldn’t just walk into the grounds of this building knowing what he knew without at least telling Hwin. Surely she deserved to know the truth? Part of it, he knew, was just him putting off the other moment, choosing a less painful topic in order to avoid the harder one. This was still hard, still hurt as Virgil took a deep breath to try and steady himself. It only half worked. 

“I... this world is ending,” Virgil told Hwin softly, unable to meet her gaze. Instead he fixed his eyes on her front hooves as though they were by far the most interesting things to examine right now. 

“I know,” Hwin replied simply, voice still calm despite the bombshell she dropped. Virgil’s head snapped up, gaze wide and unguarded as he gaped at her in disbelief, trying to understand what she had just said. 

“You know?” All he could do was parrot back the words in the form of a question. 

“The world is shrinking, I can sense it. I can feel the boundaries of other worlds press in on this one, wanting to dissolve into each other. There is an end approaching.” She paused, her tail still flicking from side to side, the only real movement from either of them. 

Virgil could feel tears brimming in his eyes at her words. The calm and almost detached way in which she described her impending fate somehow far worse than if she had cried or grow angry at him. Virgil wasn’t trying to save this world. he wasn’t trying to save her - something she had every right to be furious about. She knew why he was really here. She knew that it was Roman alone that motivated him and yet Hwin didn’t get hurt by how selfish he was being. 

Instead she helped him get here. Even now she shifted a little closer, her head dipping down to gently nuzzle against his shoulder in a comforting motion. Despite everything, she was still being kind to him and it was the kindness that broke him, his shoulders shaking as he dissolved into clear, ugly tears. Virgil rocked forward a little on his heels, leaning back into the warmth that she offered. Hwin didn’t move away, didn’t act disgusted, instead making a soft little whinny like noise as if trying to be soothing.

It only made him cry harder. Salty tears staining her mane and flank as he cried for every mistake that had led him to this moment, crying both for her and for Bree. He cried for Roman, for both versions that he knew and loved. He cried for himself as well, for everything that Virgil knew he still had to do. It was exhausting just to think about the confrontation he needed to have but there was no getting around it. 

If he wanted to get Roman’s memories back then he was going to have to face down his own past to do it. As much as the thought of that hurt, he could if it meant that he helped his friend. It still made him sob at the thought of it. At the thought of her.

“Oh do not cry Virgil. I will always be here in some form or another. Nothing truly dies in any of these worlds and you will remember me. That is more than enough for this old horse.”

Her words were only slightly comforting. Virgil still cried as he thought about everything, the stress of the past few days finally crashing over him like a wave. He gasped, struggling for breath or any sort of contact with the shore. 

“I’ll miss you,” Virgil whispered in a choking, broken tone of voice when he finally got his tears under control. He meant so much more than just at this moment. He doubted he would ever see her again. It was strange, it was ridiculous, but he felt a connection to Hwin. One that was far more real than any other character he had ever encountered within any other world Roman had created. 

She was a fragment of a figment. She was formed out of the ether of the Imagination as a character, little more than lines from a book and yet he would be heartbroken when he lost her. Reluctantly, Virgil forced himself to stop clinging to her and instead take a step backwards. He knew if he didn’t do it now, he might never find the strength to do it. He lifted a sleeve to his face, scrubbing at the tear tracks, smudging his makeup all over his cheeks. 

Right now, Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to care about the mess his face had to be. 

“And I, you. But I have done my job, I have brought you where you needed to be, I have helped to protect you. I fulfilled the purpose for which I was created and it is a lucky few who can claim to have done that. It has been an honour Virgil.” She dipped her head, front legs bending as Hwin gracefully dropped into what looked like a horse equivalent of a curtsy. 

“Good luck,” she told him as she straightened back up again and although the words were not a goodbye in the traditional sense, Virgil understood what she was really saying. Virgil nodded, swallowing again and the heavy lump in his throat seemed to have formed into something far more solid and unbreakable. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else, too afraid that he might just start crying again. Instead, Virgil settled for his two fingered little salute of farewell, turning sharply on his heel. 

It was hard, but Virgil somehow resisted the urge to look back as he passed under the imposing arch, forcing his pace to remain rapid. The shadows lengthened as he walked deeper into the palace, aimlessly moving from room to room, searching for some clue as to where he needed to go next. This was definitely the right place but it was a huge building and his target could be in any room. Or rather one room, but just because he had a pretty good idea which, that didn’t help him actually find it. 

After what felt like an age, he came to an ornate spiral staircase made out of what looked like far too delicate ice, soaring high into the sky of the vaunted room. Virgil had to assume that it led to one of the towers he had seen from the outside. 

Up, down or past the stairs completely?

It wasn’t a hard choice. His target was dramatic in his own right, and had a very overdeveloped sense of theatrics. He wouldn’t be in the dungeons or up in a tower. No, if he was anywhere, it would be in the throne room because where else could a final confrontation take place but there? If only he could find the damn place, Virgil giving a huff of annoyance as he turned a corner into yet another dead end. His breath coiled around his face a little as he made the sound, pale wisps of air like smoke. 

It was cold here. So very cold and Virgil could feel that chill but almost from a distance, as though he was aware of it but not actually suffering from it. His body didn’t tremble despite each exhale turning into mist before his eyes. That was probably a bad sign but then the list of bad signs was growing steadily longer and it was hard to really decide which ones were worth focusing on. The fact the world was crumbling and ending around him was probably more important, for example, than not feeling the cold the way he should. 

By far the creepiest thing on his list however, were the stone sculptures.

There were a number of them dotted throughout the palace, animals twisted into grotesque shapes, many in poses of fear or terror, the agony of a panic filled moment imprinted across their features. 

Virgil had read the books. He knew exactly what the animals were supposed to represent as he headed through yet another cluster of them. Virgil was barely able to repress the shudder that the sight of one particularly terrified tiny mouse statue that Virgil had made the mistake of stopping to pick up and place somewhere higher, somewhere safer. 

It was so small he could have easily stepped on it and crushed it without meaning to. 

He only hoped they had never been granted any form of life but had come into being as statues. He had to hope that the White Wizard wasn’t _that_ cruel, and that he had resisted embracing every part of the role. 

Virgil turned away from the tiny statue with another barely there shiver. He continued on through a long corridor, aware of tormented stone eyes staring out at him from every direction. He walked through two small rooms before stumbling into a much grander corridor, its roof reaching high into the sky. 

Twin golden doors came into view on the far right. Intricate patterns were engraved into the metal and as Virgil got closer he was able to make out the details. It was a mix of patterns and images this close up, a series of figures both human and animal spread across the doors as though telling some kind of story. 

They sort of looked like the history of this world now that he stood directly in front of them. Virgil reached out, lightly brushing the tips of his fingers against a perfectly recreated image of Roman’s face as he spoke to a hooded figure on a sledge. The Prince was gesturing at something off panel with a hand that held... that held a spoon.

It was _that_ moment. 

There was Roman stumbling through the snow, the lamppost in the distance behind him. There they both were fighting the manticore-chimera. There was the campfire and there, curled up, was the pair of them, asleep. Virgil frowned and leant in a little closer to that image, his cold breath fogging up the gold for a moment before he wiped it clear. Eyes were fixed on the image and the tiny Virgil that was using his hoodie as a blanket. Looking at it from the outside, it almost looked as though someone had tucked it around him. 

His attention shifted to the edge of the panel where instead of trees or smoke or even snow as he might have expected, there seemed to be sparkles pressed into the image, forming a circle around them. That looked an awful lot like how Virgil would have imagined some kind of protective magic. Had Roman done that in his sleep? It settled some of his guilt to think that at least there was something looking after them both that night. Only a little guilt, because Virgil knew he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place but it was better than nothing. 

Hwin and Bree were in the next image, Bree's head dipped towards Hwin as they spoke. In the background, it was just possible to make out two tiny figures, no doubt the pair of them returning to the main part of the mind.

Further down, he could see an image of himself on the back of Hwin, bent low over her as they raced through trees. His expression was set into one of absolute determination and fury, the same emotions that he had been feeling on the way over here. That was him only a few minutes ago. How had he known what Virgil had done, all the way down to his facial expression he had?

And there was an engraving of Virgil touching the door, just as he was this very second. He jerked his hand away from the gold as though burned by the images. Everything they had done was on this door and that image wasn’t even the last one in the set. There was more waiting, more of what had apparently not yet happened. 

Some part of him itched to look further, to see what the images said would happen next, to know if he was going to win or not. A greater part of him wanted to throw up at the implication that all of this was nothing more than a story and he had been manipulated right from the start. That he had been a puppet on a string and nothing mattered, no matter what he did or thought, it would all end the same way.

Virgil refused to accept that. He wouldn't - he couldn't - believe that everything here was predetermined, and that he had no choice in the matter. He didn’t want to look at the images, be they good or bad. The White Wizard wasn't that powerful. None of the sides had the power it would take to determine the future. They could guess of course. They could influence and hope, but they couldn’t guide events to such a detailed forgone conclusion. 

No, this door had to be a lie. Just like everything else here.

The thought gave him the courage he needed to reach out again, pressing the palms of his hands against the gold. With a grunt, Virgil pushed at them, one hand on each door, swinging them open to stride inside. They creaked as they moved, as though old and unwilling to shift. Yet more lies and theatrics, as well as an easy way to announce someone's presence. 

More statues awaited him inside. These had been placed with more care than the ones outside, positioned in lines as though courtiers awaiting an audience. They formed a procession for Virgil to follow, a path through the middle of them that he had little choice but to take, walking along a red carpet that guided him up some shallow steps and towards the end of the room. An ice throne dominated the back half of the room, eyes instantly drawn to the ornate, black ice chair which stood on a raised platform above the rest. Of course it would be black, all the better to stand out against the pale whites and blues that made up the rest of the grand room. 

Lounging on it - and really there was no other word to describe the pose but an over dramatic lounge, stretched across both armrests - was the White Wizard. He was dressed in long robes and a cape of various shades of pale white and cream, yellow thread picking out details and accents on it which gave the outfit some shape and definition. On top of his head he wore a crown of ice, spikes shooting up into the air. He looked far too casual considering he had to know that Virgil was standing right there and probably had been tracking his approach the whole time. 

It made Virgil’s head hurt a little, just staring at him. 

He wasn’t just the White Wizard though. He had never been just that and although Virgil had known since the letter who he would find wearing that role, it wasn’t a surprise to him. And yet... and yet some part of him had still thought he was wrong, had struggled to believe that someone he had once considered his brother would have been capable of doing such a thing. Virgil had hoped that the letter was a lie, a trick for whatever reason to get him here. 

After all, what would have been one more lie to the master of untruths? 

“Deceit.” Virgil half greeted the other side and half spat the name as though it were a curse, his fingers curling into tight fists as he stood there, trying not to give in to the rage and confusion that swam across him. There was no escaping the truth now, no pretending that the letter had been anything other than what it was. Deceit knew, Deceit had been honest - or as honest as the liar could be. 

He was the one who had removed Roman’s memories, who had orchestrated everything that had followed. The one who pretended to rule.

It had always been Deceit.


	12. Greeks Bearing Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes"
> 
> \- I fear the Greeks, even those bearing gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> Chapter title and summary? I'm a history nerd. And it is far too fitting. 
> 
> I just want to state again before we get into this chapter, that this takes place in a world without Remus. I had begun the story before his first appearance and the plot wouldn’t have worked in the same way if I’d changed it to include him. That also means the ‘Dark sides’ of this story are not the Dark Sides we’re bound to see in the series. They are a much darker idea. I just don’t want people reading this and thinking it was Remus. 
> 
> And as a chapter warning, this is the big one guys. We will finally get a look into Virgil and Deceit’s history and that comes with some heavier angst than previous chapters. You’ve got emotional and physical torment and torture as well as near death. Please be safe. 
> 
> And be safe in the real world, it’s crazy out there. I love you all. 
> 
> Huge thanks once again to my wonderful beta, honestly I cannot stress how much Kat has done for this story and how better the finished product is because of her. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

For a pregnant, tense pause, there was silence. 

Deceit seemed to have barely noticed his arrival, still lounging in the throne without a care in the world. It had been a long time since Virgil had last seen him without his hat. Although the crown was truly a magnificent substitute, it still showed his head and Deceit had always been remarkably sensitive about his hair. He would always say it wasn’t right for a side like him. That it was too soft and fluffy, and as a result implied that he was soft in turn when really, Deceit was a lean, mean, fighting machine that needed his reputation to be as tough as he really was. 

Virgil didn’t understand that logic. He liked to pretend to be strong of course, he needed to be strong and scary. The only way he could ever make anyone listen to him when they were younger was by being the scariest thing in the room and of course being soft didn’t really work with that. But there was a time and a place for such things. Virgil had always seen being a scary Anxiety as a job. A very important job that was dear to his heart and he would quite literally work himself to exhaustion in order to protect Thomas, but a job all the same. One that was separate from who he was when he didn’t need to be on guard. Sometimes it was safe to leave Thomas in the hands of Logic or Morality and he got to be a softer Anxiety as a result, where nobody could see. 

So yes, he was scary most of the time, just the way he liked it. 

He also really liked it when someone he trusted played with his hair, it calmed a lot of his anxieties, it soothed his nerves in a way that was almost indescribable. Nobody was going to touch his hair unless he trusted them so nobody would know it was soft. Easy. It was rare that he actually got that level of relaxation of course, first it was only Deceit who could touch his hair. And then, a lot later - a lot, _lot_ later and Virgil didn’t want to think of all the years between one family and the other, when he was so very cold and alone all of the time - there was Patton. There was maybe the others too, but he had yet to work up the courage to ask either Logan or Roman to calm him like that. 

Not that there was any way to know if Deceit had even been serious about his complaints, only the end result in that he almost always had a hat on his head. That he really cared about the illusion of control and strength over actually enjoying any pleasant moments. The hat itself had gone through various iterations before he had found the perfect hat and it was so strange to see him like this now. 

The crown reminded Virgil of the last time he had seen Deceit without his hat. It was the angriest he had ever seen Deceit and that was saying something. 

They had been so young, and in Virgil’s case so innocent. Deceit had always known better though, he always had the full measure of the darkest elements of Thomas’ mind. It was like he was so fond of saying; it takes a liar, to know a liar. He had known that they lied when they lured a young Anxiety away to an abandoned corner of Thomas’ mind with the promise of fun. Virgil might be paranoid to a fault, perhaps even beyond reason at times. But on that day he had let his optimistic hope and pathetic desires for friendship get the best of him. He ignored the twitching paranoia of them possibly playing a nastery trick on him. And instead he had followed the Dark sides wherever they wanted, eager to win their comradery. 

It had obviously been nothing but a nasty trick and they had wanted to see just how far they could push Anxiety in order to discover what effect that would have on Thomas. For science, they gleefully told him before locking him in the dark. Alone, lost and oh so very scared. Anxiety had tried his best to be brave, clinging to all the negative feelings and attempting to shield them from his young host. He didn’t want to hurt Thomas when there was no need to make him panic. This was Anxiety’s problem, his fears and his fears alone. He had to hold them to himself, he had to make sure that none of his own terror leaked out and affected Thomas. That was exactly what they wanted, which was another reason to not do it - as though Anxiety needed a better reason than his desire to protect Thomas. 

It was hard to be brave of course, when he was all alone, in the dark and the cold. It was hard to be brave when they started whispering mocking truths to him. Always from a distance, always so that he couldn’t quite place where they were coming from, the cruel comments leaving him as confused and disoriented as before. 

Anxiety wasn’t very good at thinking up positives but he had tried to hold onto anything good in the dark. He tried to hold onto the thought he was protecting Thomas, that he was helping him by making sure he didn’t feel this. If nothing else, it taught him exactly what body language to look out for when years down the line, some popular kids tried the same trick on Thomas. 

Not that it had been much comfort at the time.

Those memories of misery were disjointed - great patches of darkness broken up by moments of terror. Virgil had no idea how long he had been locked in there. No matter how tired he became, they didn’t let him sleep, flooding the area with noise whenever it seemed likely that he might pass out. The only time he saw light was during those moments when they would fill the area with a strobe light in the hope of causing him greater discomfort and terror, the world reduced to an inescapable flashing nightmare. 

It was enough to let him know he was in a large empty room devoid of doors. Only they could make the door reappear, only they could let him out. He couldn’t run away from this. It had felt like an eternity with no end in sight. They laughed at his tears, at his pleas to please stop this, to let him go, that he was sorry for whatever it was that he had done. Anxiety would have done almost anything to get out of that room, begging until his throat was sore, voice reduced to little more than a raspy whisper. 

Only when he had exhausted himself past the point of no return did the taunts change to a one sided conversation. It was so easy to get out of here they promised. So simple. All he had to do was do what he was created to do. He was a trait, a figment, a side of Thomas. He embodied part of his hosts’ personality and all they wanted was to see just what Anxiety could really do when he set his mind to it. 

They would let him out only when he did his job. When he let himself go, and pushed as much adrenaline into Thomas as he could and not a moment before. They needed to see what would happen if Anxiety triggered a panic attack of monumental scale. All he had to do was let Thomas feel what he was feeling right now. After all, they purred, he had said he would do anything if they agreed to let him out and him doing his job was such a little thing to ask. 

_Almost_ anything. Deliberately hurting Thomas for no reason other than spite or just to see what would happen was beyond the pale, and always had been. 

He pulled his hood up and over his head in lieu of answering and tried to endure. 

The memories became increasingly patchy after that moment of defiance. Virgil couldn’t help but feel a little grateful that he was missing patches of that horror. He remembered enough. That was different from nothing, from being completely devoid of all memories and unsure of a place because of it. 

It was a conscious choice on Virgil’s part to not to go digging in his mind for those missing moments. Especially because everything that came before or after them proved that it would just be more pain, more terror. He’d been so scared, alone cold - oh so cold and wet near the end. When they had filled the room with ice cold water all the way to the ceiling.

Virgil wished he couldn’t remember the way his nails had clawed uselessly against the walls, the way he struggled and fought against the rising water, all to no avail. mere moments the whole room was completely flooded, water appearing from nowhere that had nowhere for it to go. 

He thought he was going to drown. Even then, Virgil refused to give in, to let them have what they wanted. Spite motivated him to hold it all in, even if it killed him. He had woken up coughing and spluttering for breath, soaking wet but otherwise unharmed. His oversized hoodie seemed to take forever to dry from that, it’s fabric sticking to every inch of him. His favorite item of clothing had become a skintight cage, tainting all the positive memories it held. It was a long time before Anxiety was able to feel comfortable wearing it again and by that time his views on Deceit had changed drastically. 

The wet hoodie chilled him down to the bone, literally and mentally. He was going to die here, Anxiety had known it. At least, he hoped he would die here, because if he died that would mean he hadn’t given in to what they wanted and Thomas was still safe. He didn’t remember the other taunts that flew fast and furious over him, or much of the way the temperature would shift so rapidly, only flashes of moments when he was baking hot and then inescapably cold. 

What he did remember however, as clear and as crisp as day was the moment it had ended. 

A whole wall had suddenly crumbled into dust, bright light streaming in and filling the whole space. Instinctively, Virgil threw his arm up and over his eyes, expecting it to start flashing, eyes already watering from the intensity after so long left in the dark. This was another one of the Dark Sides tricks surely - only it wasn’t.

The light dimmed after a few seconds, dropping to a more manageable level. It still hurt, but it was enough to make Virgil slowly lower his arm, blinking the water in his eyes away rapidly. He wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t going to give into them. They would only laugh at his tears, find it hilarious that pathetic little Anxiety was so bad at his job that he would rather cry than do it. 

There was someone on the other side of the light, walking closer to him, and Anxiety found himself tensing, waiting for the blow that was surely coming. Nobody came into his cell, that was part of their punishment, that was part of what they did. If he wanted contact, if he wanted someone to try and breathe in time to - well, all that anxiety was inside of him for a reason. What did they want? What were they going to do now? What new and terrifying punishment had they come up with? 

The figure had solidified into Deceit and Anxiety had never been happier to see that yellow eye.

He had come to Anxiety's rescue by taking on the others single handedly. He’d physically fought them, leaving being scars that didn’t fade anytime soon. Much more than all of that, he had won. He swept into that room slash cage like some avenging angel - or maybe some demon. Because the anger on his face had been breathtaking to say the least. Anxiety could well believe that those that stood in his way exploded into fire and brimstone at his expression. The heat he could almost feel from it was welcome, Anxiety couldn’t help but lean towards him as though he could get warm from that anger alone. A rage which had somehow grown stronger when he took a proper look at the scared and scrawny Anxiety. 

Deceit gathered him up in his arms as though he had weighed nothing and carried him out of there, murmuring soothing words the whole time. He took him _home_, he helped him. None of the main sides ever knew where Anxiety had been or what had happened to him, something that suited Anxiety just fine. Even if Creativity had made some rather cruel jokes at his expense, accusing him of not caring about his role, about their host. 

Those comments had been nothing compared to the Dark Side's words. Creativity said what he had out of malice sure, but it had also been because he had cared enough about Thomas to worry. He would never want Anxiety to hurt Thomas. There was no way he would ever tell them the truth. They didn’t need that on their minds, burdening their happy days with thoughts of just how dark Thomas’ mind could become. They were just lucky that Thomas never took much notice of the darker impulses, that their strength faded as the years passed. Virgil - as Anxiety became - never stopped keeping guard though. He had let them get the jump on him once before, he wouldn’t let them do that to the others. No matter what they might say or how they might act, Anxiety wasn’t letting them get anywhere near Thomas or the rest. And still Deceit looked after him. 

Anxiety had thought he was the coolest side there was in the whole mind. 

Deceit had been a good brother then. When had it all gone wrong? When had Virgil first started to really notice the lies and realise so many of them were directed at him? When had he first realised that Deceit would turn on him if the situation called for it, that he would never be as important to Deceit as the other side was to him? When did he first catch him out in a needless lie? The seeds had been sown so long ago that Virgil couldn’t even remember it, only the bitter harvest they had been left with. 

It was hard to trust anything Deceit said after that, it was hard to believe that he even liked him, let alone loved him like he claimed. 

When had he first looked at Deceit and begun to find him wanting? When had he slipped him into the group of Dark Sides, the ones he could never relax around, could never trust ever again?

“Deceit,” Virgil repeated, shaking his head a little and snapping his thoughts back to the present. It was pointless to think about what had once been, it was just additional torture on top of everything else. He didn’t need or want to wonder about the side that had saved him and how much of his brother was left in the snake that apparently stole memories for fun. 

Slowly, Deceit tilted his head to the side, staring at Virgil with his one snake eye, the gaze as chilling as ever. It never failed to make him want to fidget uncomfortably, always so very much aware that he was being judged in turn. Strange, how after all this time and everything that lay between them, the past a naked sword, some part of Virgil still wanted to be accepted by Deceit. A tiny part of him wanted to just step forward and punch him. Then hug him. Maybe punch him again afterwards. 

It was complicated.

Virgil just wanted his brother back, the one that had saved him, the one who told him he loved him, that he would always look out for him, protect him. He wanted to hear those sentiments coming from Deceit’s mouth and pretend that everything was like when they were kids, when things were simpler. 

If only he could be sure that what he was hearing was the truth. 

“Ah, Virgil. Come to thank me for your gift?” Deceit asked at last, still making no effort to move from his admittedly very comfortable looking throne despite the material it was made from. Virgil couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to have a throne. Roman probably had one. Virgil could always ask him, at least then he would know for certain that he would get an honest answer. Or, rather, he would, if Roman had his memories and knew what he was talking about. 

“My gift?” Virgil repeated the words back to Deceit as though he could somehow change their meaning. What were thoughts of thrones compared to this? To the idea that all of this had somehow been Virgil’s fault? For a moment panic swept over him, stronger even than his rage. Surely this wasn't his fault? He had never asked for anything like this, he had never wanted something like this to happen. 

Deceit gave an over the top sigh, as though disappointed in Virgil and finally moved. He swung his legs from over the armrest to stand at last. The movement was as slow and as over the top as the sigh had been, each motion deliberately exaggerated and drawn out. Deceit wanted Virgil to know just how annoying he was finding this whole conversation, how pointless it was from his perspective. Deceit had always been so very good at making him feel small, barely there at all and he knew that that was what he was trying to do now. 

This time it didn’t work. It made Virgil’s blood boil instead. There was no worry of the cold getting to him now, not when he could cling to the fire of his rage. He refused to back down or look away, to give away any of the visual clues that would show he was affected. Virgil wasn’t the same little scared Anxiety that Deceit had looked after. Now, he was a grown up pissed off Virgil and it was his turn to be protecting someone from a bully.

Deceit seemed to notice that as well. His movements shifted into something more energetic, dropping the lazy pretense. 

Now his stride was purposeful. Like that of some cat predator stalking towards his prey and no matter how angry Virgil felt, he couldn’t help but acknowledge that he should feel nervous at that movement. It was so reminiscent of times when Deceit had jumped in to protect him. When Deceit had been something worthy of being scared of. It took Virgil practise, to know how to be that kind of scary. It wasn’t easy to become the thing that even bad guys feared. Yet for Deceit, it was a role that he seemed born to play effortlessly. 

He moved down from the throne, towards Virgil, hips swaying, a confident smirk curled on his lips as though he knew something Virgil didn’t. Or as if he was still the same big brother that had all the answers while baby brother Anxiety knew nothing. There was a dangerous feeling to the air around them now, something charged and almost electric. Gone was the forced casualness of before, the artificial laziness. Virgil had never been on the receiving end of that look and walk before, despite all their clashes in the recent past. It was far scarier than he wanted to admit - but then Deceit would know that. Deceit always knew when any of them were lying, even an internal whisper to themselves. 

The other side came even closer, close enough to touch. Virgil hated it when people touched him without his permission. It was the dramatic opposite to his feelings of people playing with his hair when he knew and expected it. Deceit knew just how much he hated it - so really, Virgil wasn’t surprised when Deceit lifted a gloved hand, letting it drift near his face. 

It brushed against Virgil’s cheek in what he was sure was supposed to be a reassuring and tender pat to the face. It felt like anything but. He didn’t pull away though, his legs stuck in place as if he was slowly turning into one of the stone statues that littered the room. All he could do was stand there and focus on his breathing, to keep it steady as Deceit kept touching. It was degrading, it was humiliating and more than all that, it was deliberate. 

False displays of kindness were Deceit’s stock in trade and Virgil had been on the receiving end of too many of them to ever trust the softness to be genuine. Even if, sometimes... sometimes they had been real. Sometimes Deceit had given him love and care without expecting anything in return. Sometimes when they had been children, Deceit would have gathered Virgil up in his arms and promised him a world of safety and love, and Virgil would have believed it too. 

No longer though. He couldn’t afford it any longer. 

Virgil refused to give in to the worry that was slowly seeping through his mind like poison, to back down like his mind started to tell him to do so. Some part of him felt like a rat cornered on all sides and the snake was rearing back, ready to strike. He was still angry. Virgil had to remind himself that he was still angry, and had to push everything aside in order to focus on the only thing that actually mattered here. Not his own feelings, not their shared past. Not even the deeply buried hope that a relationship long withered could somehow burst back into bloom. No, the only thing Virgil was going to allow himself to focus on, was Roman.

“What gift?” he repeated. He spoke those words through gritted teeth, staring back at Deceit as he refused to acknowledge the hand. Even that had its own dangers, because it meant looking deep into eyes that had the power to pin him even more securely in place, eyes that could captivate and enthral in equal measures. Virgil had lost count of the times Deceit had used his gaze to help calm him after a bad panic attack. 

“Roman of course. I thought you would appreciate a reset on him. How is the new and improved Roman doing? I trust you have got him all trained by now?”

“... A reset? New and improved?” Virgil couldn’t believe what he was hearing. As if this was a good thing, as if Roman was somehow better by being lost and not himself anymore. And then, by implication, that it was Virgil’s fault that things weren’t back to normal now. As if Virgil hadn’t done better by moulding him into his own version of who he should be. 

That was a terrible, terrible idea. Virgil knew now that he worked well with Creativity if both of them were equal. If they were both listened to without one other whelming the other. Just as he knew he helped and he also knew that he was more creative than he had first realised. It was just that Virgil’s own personal brand of creative thoughts were not exactly... positive ones. He could think up more monsters under the bed than Roman could think up heroes to slay them. Working together, they could create epic worlds with monsters and heroes in equal measure, adventures for Roman to go on or Thomas to explore in dreams and word. 

That didn’t mean he should be in control of Creativity. Because if Virgil was in charge it meant Thomas would never get anything done. All of his ideas would only come with all the flaws and possible dangers. Without Roman at the helm, the world’s would die, just like this one was, collapsing under the weight of its own worries and doubts. Their temperaments were suited to the aspects of Thomas that they represented. Trouble only arose when they were either too powerful or too lacking in their own departments. When one would try and shout over the other and assume they knew best, that Thomas should only listen to them and they attempted to usurp the others' roles. 

Virgil knew all that. Try as he might, he couldn’t look away. He started into those odd eyes that filled up his world. Deceit’s gaze coupled with those words cause him to… well, he couldn’t help the doubts that seeped into his mind. Doubts like little tratious whispers which niggled away at his anger. Reality was always such a fluid thing for Virgil to start with. He was wrong so often with his fears that overcame everything. Yet it was so laughably easy to make him doubt himself. One small thing was all it took for him to question himself if he had a right to be angry. Or if he had a right to think anything of anyone at all.  
Logan said that knowledge was power but Virgil couldn’t see any of that here. He knew his own weakness. His own flaws. He knew them so well and yet it didn’t stop him wondering if he had been in the wrong to not try and shape Roman into who he had once been. Not into a Creativity that was Anxiety inspired - Virgil would never do that to him - but he knew Roman so well. It wouldn’t have been hard to tell him proper details about himself. To show him carefully curated moments so that he was a prince again, so that he could fool people into being a mask of himself. It wouldn’t have been the same as actually regaining his memories but it would have created a Roman similar to who he used to be.

Virgil had wanted Roman to learn who he was for himself but maybe that had been a mistake. 

Then again, maybe not.

God, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything and it hurt, the doubts weighing him down and making him want to forget his anger. Virgil couldn’t afford to let that heat slip away completely. He needed it to keep himself going but Deceit was turning everything around. He was using that gaze against him and Virgil couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this was yet another time when he had been completely wrong. On every single level it was possible to be wrong. 

Deceit smiled, something triumphant in the expression, as though he had already won. 

“I made him better didn’t I? Just like you always wanted, the sort of Creativity he should have been if it wasn’t for that delightful original personality of his. All it took was a little nudge and the chance to start fresh without any of the other irritating elements getting in the way.”

He was... he was talking about Patton. Logan. Roman himself. Virgil knew that there were parts of the light sides that annoyed him at times, things he wished were different. Patton and Roman in particular were all so... bright, all the time. It hurt his eyes and his mind sometimes to have to deal with their endless positivity as if nothing terrible existed in the world. Beyond creepy crawly death dealers who weren’t even that bad. Just as Logan had once said, they could be unbearable when they were at their most... them. But that was who they were. If they could put up with the endless storm cloud that was Virgil even on his worst days then it was only fair that Virgil handle their enthusiasm and sunshine. It was what made Thomas... Thomas. Virgil wouldn’t change that. 

Virgil could accept the idea that he needed improvement. He could accept the idea that he was wrong. Especially since he was so often very wrong whenever he tried to protect Thomas from the terrors of the world both real and imaginary. 

But what he couldn’t accept was that any of the others were wrong. Not to the extent that they should lose everything and be remade. They were as close to perfect as it was possible to be, with only the mildest of flaws. If anything, it just showed how wrong Virgil really was for not being able to handle them all the time. They were good and pure and Deceit was acting as though there was something wrong with them. 

Knowledge _was_ power.

Virgil stumbled backwards, ripping himself out of Deceit’s hold. A thought like a shot of espresso rushed through his blood stream; Roman had been perfect just the way he was. Those memories were an important part of him, not something that could be discarded on a whim as though they didn’t matter, and in turn, as though who Roman was didn’t matter. 

“We’re talking about Roman, not some... some... some Furby you can just take the batteries out to try and stop the possessed toy! He isn’t something you turn off and on again to ‘fix’,” Virgil ranted, lifting his hands to make air quotes over the word fix as he spoke, and how could Deceit be that detached from what he had done? 

Deceit gave a snort, looking completely unimpressed by anything Virgil was saying. It almost felt as though they were talking at cross purposes. Each discussed a different topic than the other and neither seemed willing to make any effort to even get closer to the actual issue at hand. Virgil knew he was the one talking about the right thing, the most important thing and yet Deceit still acted as though he was the one in the right. His mistake had been attacking the others though and their goodness was a truth that Virgil could never doubt. 

“Oh please, since when have you ever cared about Roman? I seem to recall you spending hours ranting about Creativity and how annoying he was. You should be thanking me, he isn’t an over the top dramatic prince anymore! No more insulting you either, I certainly didn’t expect you to think it was as though all your Christmas’ had come at once.” 

Now that Deceit said that, Virgil realised that he never once thought of the memory loss that way. He had been pleased that Roman didn’t hate him anymore, pleased that he didn’t remember all the mean things Virgil had done to him. He had been scared as well, so terrified that history would repeat itself and he would lose his friend all over again. That agony had been the strongest emotion he had felt. 

But he never once been that happy enough to want it to become something permanent. He knew that sooner or later Roman would recover his memories. At least, he had assumed Roman would. Virgil travelled to the Imagination in order to help because he hadn’t been able to picture a world in which his dramatic friend was not himself. Even if that meant they weren’t as close as Virgil would have liked them to be. It had been wonderful to be trusted by Roman once more, to have the other side consider them real close friends. 

It seemed as though that friendship they had made was destined to be as fragile and as fleeting as the first snowdrops of the spring, trying to reach for the sun too early. 

Because Roman was surely going to hate him when he found out this was all supposed to be a present for Virgil. Once he knew that he had been attacked and his mind violated because Deceit had apparently thought it would be something that the anxious side would want. If that was the truth of course, and things were never that simple when it came to Deceit. Never that clear cut, one reason, one answer that made sense. 

Still, Roman was going to hate him and Virgil couldn’t blame him in the slightest. If he had done even the smallest thing to imply that he might wish this to be reality, then it was his fault too. Roman was going to hate him once he remembered who he was and learnt the truth.

That was going to _suck_, so badly. 

It would hurt, would rip him apart and Virgil didn’t know if he was strong enough to survive it. The thought of being without their friendship again - because surely Patton and Logan would turn their backs on him too when Roman told them the truth - made Virgil want to curl up into a tight little ball and sob his heart out. He didn’t want to lose what he had, he didn’t want to be alone again... but Virgil still needed to help, needed to somehow undo his own mistake and Deceit’s folly. Maybe the Anxiety that Deceit had known would have been delighted but he had grown and changed a lot since then - mostly for the better but Virgil was enough of a realist to know that he still made so many mistakes, he still slipped and went backwards, became worse. 

He was trying and on the good days - even on the neutral days - Virgil could see how far he had come. He was able to look behind him and feel pride at his accomplishments on the long path he had set upon. The bad days only made him more aware of how far he really had to go still before he could consider himself even close to them. 

As children, Anxiety had always tried to stay near to the others whenever he could. He claimed it was just to protect Thomas but that had been a lie. He had been like the outcast kid peering into the charmed circle he knew he would never be a part of and longing for the impossible all the same. Anxiety had never really been able to imagine what it would be like to actually be accepted, to not have to fight to be heard every second of the day. He had never really understood what it would be like to be part of that family. 

That Anxiety had been lucky in a way. He had been able to survive through ignorance because even in his wildest dreams, he had never come close to imagining the warmth and love that flowed from the other three on a daily basis. 

That Anxiety had never been given the chance to get to know Roman. He had never became his friend. But then that version of Anxiety - the one that Deceit knew, that he was still protecting had changed beyond all measure. He had grown into the Virgil he was now and while Virgil couldn’t ignore who he had once been, he also couldn’t pretend that he wanted to go back to how it had been before. He wouldn’t sacrifice Roman for his own comfort. He would never. 

Now Virgil was going to choose to stumble back into the snow without any protective layers. Better to freeze of his own choice. Better to die a hero. Better to grow cold for the right reasons. Later, Virgil would have to cling to those thoughts, reminding himself over and over that he chose to do this. That he wanted this no matter the consequences. Just as soon as he somehow managed to fix it and damn himself all at the same time. 

He just needed to somehow convince Deceit to reverse whatever it was that he had actually done. Deceit who had never admitted he was in the wrong in all the time Virgil had known him. Deceit who rarely backed down from a challenge. Deceit who was still acting as if this was a good thing and Virgil was the weird one for being angry. 

Great. Just perfect.


	13. Old Sins have Long Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> Chapter 13. Unlucky for some eh? And here we finally have it. The very long awaited showdown between Virgil and Deceit. Who will win? Who will admit they might not be completely right? 
> 
> This chapter includes probably my favourite few lines of dialogue out of the whole story. It’s also the core of the original idea and where the whole story sprung from. I hope you all enjoy it as well. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Old Sins have Long Shadows

** **

He could do this.

Okay, so Virgil really didn’t believe his own statement. Yet he had to hope that there was a way, he had to tell himself that he could do it. Because the alternative was something he couldn’t bear thinking about. Virgil had never won an argument with Deceit but there had to be a first time for everything. After all, only a few years ago he had never shared a guilt free happy moment with Roman. He had never sat and watched the stars with Logan when the logical side had been aware of his presence. Never baked with Patton. Things changed. People changed. That had to mean that sides changed too and that he had a chance here. It was just a case of working out where to start. 

“How did you even do it?” Virgil asked, shifting from one topic to another. Work with what he knew, that was the way to do it. He had to get Deceit talking, and that, in theory, shouldn’t be too hard. If there was one weakness that Deceit and Roman shared, it was a tendency to monologue their plans and desires. Deceit always liked to show that he was the smartest side in the room. It was a tendency that Virgil had been all too willing to indulge in when they were kids, wide eyed and enthralled as Deceit spun his lies across whole kingdoms. If he was feeling cynical, Virgil would probably say that was why Deceit had taken him under his wing to start with, that he had seen Anxiety was the one who would be willing to listen. 

Then again, when they were children, Anxiety really _had_ thought that Deceit knew all the answers. Some part of Virgil couldn’t help but envy his younger self, the way in which things had all been more obvious then. It had been obvious that Deceit was a good guy - that he was his brother, his _hero_ and more besides. It had been obvious that he should listen to and trust everything he said. It had been obvious that water was dry if that was what Deceit claimed. 

Things had been simpler then. Not better of course, but simpler and easier. The rules had made sense and there was no agonising split loyalties, no having to think too hard about what was right or wrong. He had been able to move between the two as if they were properly separate worlds without worrying that his choices in one would affect the other. 

Then Thomas began growing up and the world had turned out to be a lot more complicated than any of them had first assumed. 

Pick one side and damn the other. Say yes to cookies and hot chocolate with your new family but that meant turning your back on your old one. Say no to helping create fear so a lie could sink in deep and be branded a traitor to the family, to Thomas. For so long Virgil had existed as Grey, as neither Light nor Dark, but stuck hovering awkwardly in the middle. 

He often wondered if Patton really knew what he was doing when he started trying to entice Anxiety into the Light Side’s home. When he had started really smiling and joking, offering his own brand of comfort to Anxiety without seeming to expect anything in return. It was a whole lot harder to creep back to his dimly lit room in the darker corners of Thomas’ mind when he knew what it felt like to shyly accept a hot meal from the self proclaimed dad of the mind. When he knew what it was like to have his hair ruffled because he washed his own dishes up.

Virgil couldn’t help but wonder over the years if there had been any calculation to Patton’s actions. If he had pushed ahead despite the disapproval of both Logan and Roman because he had seen an opportunity. One that resulted in removing a source of power from the dark sides; Virgil himself. To force Virgil to choose once and for all which side of the board he was going to play as. Virgil really hoped not. He didn’t want to think that Patton was that cruel. Even if the alternative meant that Patton was that naive, that he had no idea of the agonising conflict of loyalties Virgil felt. Or how hard it had been to take that step over the threshold with his bag of prized possessions.

The room appeared before Virgil had made the conscious choice to move. It had been brighter than the one below while still dark enough for Anxiety. Logically, he knew that his belongings existed in both places at the same time - exactly how, he didn’t know and he wasn’t brave enough to ask Logic to find out - and so he didn’t need to carry the little bag from room to room. He could leave what mattered behind and still find it right where he left it when he got back.

Somehow though, he felt that he had to this time, that he was ‘moving’ and so he needed to take his things with him. That there was a power in making the choice a permanent thing and Anxiety didn’t want to run the risk that something might go wrong, that the Dark elements might somehow be able to take his stuff before his room faded from existence there. At least, he hoped it would fade from there. It would be easier to handle the separation if the mind removed his way back. It was always easier for Anxiety to be weak and let someone or something else make his life choices for him. 

Even Creativity’s disdain hadn’t been enough to send him running back downstairs. Even the other sides somehow knew the importance of that moment. He could still hear the ranting as he closed the door on his room - _his_ room now, only his, forever his - and finally Anxiety could let himself relax, could tell himself he was home. 

Part of Anxiety had regretted his choice that night when the terrors had come and torn him from his sleep. He had woken in tears, as he so often did in those days, haunted by all the terrible ways in which Thomas’ life could be ruined. High school was a minefield of social interactions and life choices that could determine the course of his life. All it would take would be one little slip up and the world as they all knew it would be over.

They had to pick the right classes, the right friends. They had to work hard on their homework - but not too hard that they came across as a nerd on top of everything else. Really, they had to stop trying so hard in general and while Anxiety liked a lot of the angsty emo look that Thomas was going with these days it made him stand out. Standing out was bad. 

And there were so many _girls_ about, ones with pretty hair, who smelled nice and why didn’t they like them in the way all the other boys seemed to like them? Why couldn’t they pretend to feel like that for one of them, just like Deceit always said they should do? Fake it till you make it? Morality insisted that wasn't fair on the girl and well, Anxiety couldn't deny that, a spike of fear running through him at the thought of what might happen when people found out they had been lying about their feelings. It was enough to make him cry, tears rolling down his face as he looked around at his room that was his and yet in this moment was all wrong.

Too bright compared to what it had been like before. Too many strange little noises from the corridor, different people on the other side of the wall, different sides. None of them were who Anxiety wanted. He wanted his brother. He wanted Deceit.

Anxiety had reached out only to find a thin wall between himself and the space where Deceit lived, a barrier that had not been there the night before. He could have pushed through it of course. It wasn’t solid, not yet anyway. He could still have turned tail and run back to his old life, could have tried and carried on letting himself be pulled this way and that. The temptation was there, all he had to do was reach out and push.

He didn’t.

Instead Anxiety had pulled the covers over himself, hiding away from the world and clutching at the ragged toy, clinging to the soft animal as if it could somehow match the warmth and security of a living, breathing body. As if it could be good as a family. He cried himself back to sleep that night. Virgil had never pressed on that barrier again. Afraid of... something. That it would either be solid or fluid, that he was trapped or he could still slip from one side to the other with ease.

Honestly, he didn’t know which option scared him the most.

Still, the choice to move fully to the light side, when it was made, wasn’t even because of Patton. It wasn’t because of Logan or Roman either. It wasn’t even thanks to Thomas that Virgil had eventually abandoned the darker corners of the mind and everything that came with it. 

Deceit had been the one to make him choose. 

No. 

Deceit had been the one to make the choice for him. 

He had known Virgil’s weaknesses only too well and that Virgil would never be able to pick a side, but would instead shift between them, constantly tearing himself to pieces as he tried to form and reform himself to fit the mold of whoever he was talking to at the time. Dancing from one extreme to the other, wearing himself thinner and thinner until Anxiety had started to wonder if he was going to fade away completely. Deceit watched from the shadows a lot. He knew a lot, more than Virgil had ever told him. He knew about the visits to the light side. He knew about the head ruffles and about the occasional conversations he had with Logic that weren't mean. 

He even knew that for all that Virgil still loved him, his dad seemed to have more hold over him than his brother. Worst of all, Deceit knew about the time Anxiety hadn't been strong enough, fast enough. When he had been stabbed and left to... left to learn that a side couldn't really die in the way humans did.

All because Anxiety had been too tired to keep up the pretence. It was hard work remembering which version of himself he was meant to be at any one time, difficult to slip into the right mindset. With them he was supposed to be angry, to be cruel. All too ready to push some anxiety into his host and get the blood flowing. Keep him alert and by doing that, keep him _safe_. Even Anxiety though, had to admit there were times when he wasn't needed, when Thomas really was safe. 

Thomas didn't need a panic attack right now and they made him pay for deciding that. He had been too slow. Too stupid. He hadn't acted the role with enough gusto to convince them. Anxiety had just wanted a moment's peace. One second when he wasn't attacking or defending. Just one single second where Thomas was relaxed, no danger present. All the homework had been done to Logic's extracting standards. No tests loomed on the horizon, so what was the harm in letting him play a video game for an hour or so in order to escape the crushing reality that was their inevitable death? 

Anxiety didn't want to take this moment from Thomas but he was in the company of those who did. Normally, that meant he would act as they wanted, would pump just enough adrenaline and fear into Thomas to make them satisfied before creeping off to try and get through the attack himself. Normally, he wasn’t brave enough to even think about saying no. But he was tired. He wanted to relax almost as much as he wanted Thomas to relax. He wanted to not have to be himself, to not be cruel and wicked and make his host unhappy. Anxiety had drawn in a slow breath at the suggestion slash order, had danced on the knife edge as his mind scrambled desperately to come up with some excuse as to why he wasn’t going to do his job.

And the malicious dark side had made him pay for that hesitation with a stab to the gut. So quick to anger, so quick to see the worst - or in this case, the best - out of his actions. Virgil could still remember the feel of the blade as it slipped so cleanly into him, splitting aside flesh as though it was soft butter, the mocking words of his attacker ringing round and around in his head.

_Snitches gets Stitches_

Which made no sense. He hadn't told on them for a start. In fact, Anxiety hadn't really said much of anything, just trying to get by with as little interaction as he could. The wound wasn't one that could be healed with stitches. It wasn’t one that could be healed at all, at least not in the time he had left. The other side had left him to his fate. He had walked away laughing as Anxiety had pressed shaking hands against his stomach as though that could somehow keep the blood from seeping out any further. 

Anxiety learnt something that day. A lesson that he was determined none of the others, good or dark, would ever have to learn. That was two things. One, just what happened to a Side on the cusp of death. And two? What happened to them instead of actually dying.

Deceit learned something as well. How weak his little brother really was, how soft he was and how he had shown his true colours. It would only be a matter of time before someone came for him again, before they worked out that the angry side had gone too far, that the blow should have killed instead of maimed. Who knew what they would do with that information? How they would make Anxiety regret teaching that.

It had been like floating upon the sea - but not any sea. The Dead Sea. The water was pain that came in endless waves. And like the Dead Sea, you couldn’t sink. You were kept afloat by the imaginary nature of your being, salt in the wounds that oh so slowly healed. Too far from land to swim to safety. There was nothing to do but endure and wait for the current to slowly wash you ashore. 

Deceit wasn't going to let that happen again. Deceit wasn't going to let his younger brother embarrass him like that again. It was time he grew up, time that he made his choice once and for all and stopped being such a coward. It was time he moved out Deceit told him, the snake-faced side ignoring the way Anxiety had cried at that, face hard and unyielding. Deceit stood there with his arms crossed while the anxious side had slowly packed up his items in the bag, simply staring off into space when Anxiety tried one last time to apologise. Deceit even went so far as to slam the door in Anxiety's face and make him do the walk of shame on his own. For all of that however, Deceit had made sure that nobody interfered with him, that they didn't launch one last attack.

Looking back, Virgil wondered if that had been a lie as well. Sometimes he hoped it was, and the angry hissed words had just been to make him leave for his own good. Sometimes he was just angry in turn, hurt that even his brother had turned his back on him. It had taken Virgil years to move past that trauma, to even start to think about trusting again, let alone lowering his wall enough to begin to create another family. 

Where had their friendship gone? Their family, the two of them against the world? Why did it have to be this way?

Because the alternative meant pain for even more people than the two of them. 

“You want me to stand here and monologue what you think is my evil plan? Of course, I’ll get right on that Virgil, because as you so rightly think, I am a moron.” Deceit lifted a gloved hair in the air as he spoke, Virgil blinking rapidly as his mind was wrenched from a painful past and into an equally painful present as once again he was forced to side one way or the other.

"I am touched by how much you think of me," Deceit added with another little sneer, his head tilting to the side. The light caught at the crown he was wearing, tiny little shards of sparkling colour dancing across the black ice of the throne, and Virgil could see himself reflected in the many shining surfaces, fractured images cut through with rainbow light. 

His expression was one of muted horror. Disgust at how far they had both fallen - Deceit that he would do this in the first place, and Virgil that he would believe his brother capable of it, that he would abandon him all over again. In the end, this was another choice.

Help Roman and damn Deceit. It should be easy. They did nothing but exchange verbal blows in the videos, they glared at each other across the room or mind palace. They fought and fought as though nothing but hatred had ever existed between them. Virgil was sure that Roman suspected some dramatic break had happened between them, a cataclysmic schism that pitted good against evil. Something utterly epic but something in a framework he understood all the same, something with clearly defined villains and heroes. 

He probably didn't even come close to guessing the actual history. He couldn’t. Because nothing was ever that simple. 

Each carried invisible scars left by the other, each were far more damaged than they let on, more wounded by the past. Even seeing Deceit for the first time after all those years had been like a punch to the stomach, one Virgil had done his best to hide with a flaring of nostrils and narrowing of eyes. After the video was over and everyone was safe, he had locked himself in his room and broken down, his emotions exploding out of him in a fury of tears and wails. 

So the choice was to damn him. 

Damn Deceit. Damn his brother, damn the first side he had ever loved. Damn his past and run away from it once more, play pretend and act as though the lying wasn't the living reminder of his own past. Damn the one that saved him over and over again, until Virgil lost count of the number of times he owed his life.

How was he supposed to do that? But equally, how could Virgil go the other way, how could he wade back to his original family and leave Roman to drown in confusion and fear? Virgil couldn't let Roman be an innocent victim of the toxic undercurrents that ruined what had once been between them. Virgil would accept Deceit hating him as a consequence, no matter how much that made the small boy he still was at times want to cry. He had to. 

“Come on man, you can’t just pretend this was all for me and then not explain what you did. I mean I get how you did it, I saw the jelly jar and I gotta say that was smart of you."

“It was, wasn’t it,” Deceit interrupted, looking far too pleased with himself. Virgil swallowed down the biting comment that wanted to spill out, the need to point out that clever or not, it had been cruel. Deceit was talking though. He was gradually unbending, always eager with a little nudge to show his brother just how smart he really was. Deceit wanted to shine, to show how clever he had been. How he had been able to trick another side and get them to do what he had wanted all along.

"But why? And how? I mean how’d you even affect him like that?” 

“It is the Imagination. Really, it is thanks to Roman that I was able to do it. He cast me in this role after all, told me I was the White Wizard and I was to cast my spell over the whole land. He also told me that he and his brother were going to defeat me, I certainly didn’t get upset at thinking he had claimed that role for himself. He is the prince after all, he has his pick of any and all rules. So what if he then said who his brother was. I didn’t care.” 

“Right,” Virgil agreed as Deceit looked at him, clearly waiting for a response of some kind. It certainly seemed like he should be agreeing with what Deceit was saying, regardless of what he actually felt. Anything to keep him talking. Deceit smiled, still looking so pleased with himself. 

“Not that he realised it was really I. Or how much power he gave me, I found books in this place for all sorts of things, right down to memory loss. And well, we are all magic and make believe at the end of the day. I only half expected it to work, you can imagine how shocked I wasn’t to discover he was the same gormless idiot with his memories as he was without. And that it lasted beyond this little world.”

Listening to Deceit talk always gave Virgil a bit of a headache. Not because it was Deceit and he didn’t like him, he was a liar, a dark side, blah, blah, blah. Or any of the excuses that he would give when they were fighting in a video, but simply because it could be confusing to work out which line was an outright lie. Which was a lie of omission or which were the half truths or whole truths buried in the sand. He had always made the effort though. It was a small price to pay, taking those extra few moments to work out just what Deceit meant by his words, because his brother was worth understanding correctly. Not that Virgil had always gotten it right. 

Time and distance dulled his skill in that regard, and it took him longer than it should to pick apart what Deceit was saying, to work out that he turned the Imagination itself into a weapon against Roman. It raised more questions, made him wonder how he had managed to sneak in without Roman noticing it was actually him and not a shade in his form. Not that it really mattered, it didn’t change anything in the long term. 

Deceit’s hurt was almost like a living thing, molten in its heat and that - that took Virgil’s breath away a little, the thought that he seemed to honestly upset at the idea that Roman had wanted to act as Virgil’s brother, the lie almost embarrassingly transparent. 

“I was going to use it on you first, wipe away all those painful lonely years, all those memories we both wish we could forget. Somehow though...” Deceit trailed off thoughtfully, as if he was discussing some more mundane than the mental obliteration of one of the sides. “Somehow it just didn’t feel right to do it to you.”

Virgil felt his mouth drop open in shock as he stared at Deceit, for a moment too thrown by the words themselves to even freak out over the idea that he could have been the one without any memories. It could have been him wandering the snow and not knowing anything about himself or his family. Selfishly, Virgil couldn’t help but feel a little bit glad that it wasn’t him. Because Virgil doubted he would have reacted as well as Roman did. He certainly wouldn’t have been as trusting as the regal side had been. 

None of that was important though, none of that came close to what actually did matter. The idea that the only thing that had saved him from that fate was Deceit deciding that it didn’t ‘feel right’ was the important thing, was the idea that his brain was struggling to understand. He couldn’t help but feel a little disconnected from the moment, mentally thrown off a cliff and left hanging part way down, fingers just barely holding onto the rock face as he tried to grapple with this new information.

“But it didn't feel wrong to do it to Roman?!” Virgil forced out at last, the absurdity of the moment simply too much to bear any longer. 

Deceit rolled his eyes as if Virgil was the one being unreasonable with his reaction when really, Virgil felt as if he was being more than reasonable. Over reasonable as it were. 

“Obviously it did. Do try and keep up dear. It’s not like Roman really counts or anything after all.”

Roman had never really counted in Deceit’s eyes. Not in the same way he had considered Virgil his family. Unlike Anxiety, he had never been consumed by doubts, by desires that pulled him this way and that. He might not like the other dark sides but they were still his family - as children he would always say the only one he couldn’t stand was Anxiety and Virgil had preened under the compliment, craving the validation so badly that he had ignored the hidden insult or doubts that were flecked across his skin every time Deceit insulted one of the others. 

“Give it back,” he demanded and Virgil was done playing nice, done pandering to his - admittedly clever - thinking. Virgil just wanted this to be over. Deceit blinked, something slow and deliberate. 

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

“His memories. There has to be a cure or something, so give them back to him.”

“Why would there be a cure?” Deceit was stalling now, adopting a more aloof expression, trying to back peddle, to pretend that he was still the angry, unknowing White Wizard from before, alien and inscrutable. Virgil smiled at him, feeling a surge of confidence and despite everything that had happened to them both this was still his brother. This was still his brother, his family and the longer he looked, the more he started to see that he recognized. Little twitches and tells that told him under it all was still the same side he had loved. Still loved. 

“You forget I know you, just like you know me. You wouldn’t do something like this unless you could undo it. You’d lose all control if there was no way to reverse it at your own whim and we couldn’t have that now could we? Where is it?” Virgil kept his head high as he glared at Deceit, matching his expression death stare for death stare. 

“You really want that dramatic theater kid back? The one that teased you endlessly, the one that never made you cry and what, you think I didn’t know about all those nights you cried yourself to sleep? I always understood why you cared about that side. He never hurt you and yet time after time you wouldn’t go crawling back,” Deceit huffed, his gloved hands curling into fists as tilted his body away from Virgil a little, the movement betraying faint traces of anxiety. If there was one emotion that Virgil was good at reading, it was that one. This was making him nervous and that had to mean that he was right in thinking there was a cure. 

“Roman is unlucky in that this is all I did to him for what he did to you in the past. I mean come on Virgil, it’s not like I’m trying to help here.” 

Help? 

“We nearly died out there because Roman didn’t have his memories and thus any control over his powers and you call that helping?” Virgil snapped, and this was even worse than he had imagined because he believed now that Deceit was still the same at his core, he believed that this was still the same side he had grown up with. Deceit was meant to be his brother, he was meant to care but he had left them out in the snow to nearly die. After everything they had been through and all the angry words that had passed between them, Virgil had never expected a particularly warm reunion but he also didn’t expect to nearly die thanks to him.

Virgil couldn’t help but imagine all the terrible ways in which it could have been so much worse. Roman could have been on his own when he accidentally conjured some monster into being. Worse, he could have been with Patton and Virgil loved Dad, he really did, but he couldn’t help but worry that Patton would have been beyond useless in that situation. 

“Oh I’m sure that would have happened. I wasn’t watching out for you. Who do you think gave you that sword or looked after you at night? Who do you think covered up your ungrateful cold body? Where did Hwin come from? I would so let you get hurt, you should know that by now.” Deceit had the nerve to look upset as he spoke - and not the theatrical hurt that he used so many times before. This wasn’t a lie.

This was as raw and as bleeding as the anger he had shown when he had thought of Roman wanting to pretend to be Virgil’s brother. Virgil swallowed heavily. He didn’t know what to make of the words that had come flying fast and thick at him, at the knowledge that Deceit had been looking after him all this time. He was going to have to think about that later, was going to have to have a couple of hard conversations with himself about it. Right now however, it made his own anger fade a little, made him impulsively switch tack and try a different way to convince Deceit. 

"Deceit... _brother_. Please. This isn't the way to try and do whatever it is you want. This isn’t right and we can’t leave Roman like this, no matter what mistakes he might have made in the past. God knows, we’ve all made terrible mistakes in the past. I know I did... but this isn’t right. Roman and Thomas shouldn’t have to pay this price. We need to protect our host. _**I**_ need to protect him. Let me do my job?”

He was Anxiety, Protection, Caution, all the terms that Roman had graced him with, the concepts that Virgil so desperately wanted to live up to. Roman trusted him to do the right thing and he was going to do it. He was going to fix this and as well as helping Roman, helping Thomas, he was going to help Deceit. Nobody else needed to know what he had done. They would judge him for it, they wouldn’t understand in the way that Virgil was slowly starting to understand. 

All they would see was the end result but Virgil saw so much more than that. He saw the choices which lead up to it, the path that was taken and all the little pushes and nudges which had forced Deceit along it. He saw a whole array of misguided thoughts and mistakes because of course Virgil could, he had made so many mistakes of his own along the way and it was easy to see something of himself in these actions. Virgil tried to tell himself that he would never have done something quite so terrible, so ill advised... but he wasn’t sure what was the truth anymore and what was merely what he wished, what he hoped. Deceit would know if he was lying, of course but that would mean talking about his own problems when he could be busy trying to fix someone else's. 

Deceit stared at him, the conflict warring clearly, as obvious as his mismatched eyes. How could Virgil have ever thought that he was being cruel and evil for the sake of it? Virgil should have known better, another sin to the growing pile of them in his mind. He needed to make this right for all of them. 

“Please,” Virgil pleaded again, lifting his hands up in what he hoped was a disarming gesture. Anxiety wasn’t the right person to try and defuse situations, that wasn’t what he did. Anxiety was more flight or fight, it was getting out of a situation intact, no matter what else you destroyed along the way. He normally left this sort of thing to someone else but Virgil had no choice but to try here. To hope that he could appeal to Deceit’s better side. “Please, let me help him.” 

"To undo it... if you really want, there is a way but there won't be a price of course," Deceit told Virgil at last, picking each word carefully as though it was costing him a great deal merely to say it. 

"There always is," Virgil replied and he knew enough about magic to not be surprised that it would cost something to remove it. What had it cost Deceit to cast it in the first place then? That was yet more proof of how desperate the lying side had to have felt, to be willing to possibly damage himself in the process, all to try and ‘help’, if that was truly his motivation. 

"I want to be the one to pay it,” he added. 

"What?" Deceit looked startled at the words and really he had no right to be as surprised as he was by Virgil's self sacrificing tendencies. That, at least, had never changed. Indeed, it had only gotten worse once he had allowed himself to feel something for the main elements of Thomas’ mind. 

The second he had realised how dumb the Light Sides could be, the moment he had decided that they were _his_ dumb idiots, Virgil had felt his protective instinct go into overdrive and it had never turned itself back off. He was going to look after them, even though that meant not looking after himself. Because they were his family, his chosen few and he would feel the blade a hundred times over before he willingly let them even see the glint of the weapon. 

"The price. Whatever it is. I want to pay it, not Roman." Virgil told him, and he couldn’t let Roman suffer whatever it would be, not after the Creative Side had already suffered in losing his memories and fighting so hard in order to try and restore them. He couldn’t let Deceit suffer the price either but he knew enough of his big brother to know that Deceit would never let him do this if he thought that was the reason. Deceit would never let anyone else fight his battles for him. 

"Without even knowing what it is?" Deceit pressed, a hint of urgency in his voice and yet Virgil couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t actually tell him what it was. Almost as though afraid that the other side might change his mind if he knew exactly what the price entailed. Maybe they had been apart for too long, if Deceit honestly thought that would stop him. Virgil shook his head stubbornly, trying to hold onto that feeling of determination, reminding himself over and over who it was for, because for them he could be almost brave. 

“It doesn't matter what it is. It’s worth it to bring him back. To save everyone, to make Thomas better. I’ll pay it.” He would without question, even if he knew what it was. The actual price didn’t matter because not even feeling the almost death that a side could feel was worth it to help those he loved. Still, a little part of Virgil hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much. That maybe he could be spared complete agony because he was still a coward at heart without the thought of them to back him up, and he didn’t like the idea of pain. Or that it wouldn’t take away his memories, because that would just start the cycle all over again. Perhaps they would be smarter this time around, perhaps he could set it up so whatever the price was, would end with him. 

Deceit nodded slowly, expression serious. 

“Done.”


	14. Prince and Pretender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> So... this is a pretty heavy chapter. We’re in the End Game now and you thought it would be easy now Virgil made that deal? Yeeeeah. I think it’s just going to get worse. Thank you as always to my most wonderful Beta, Kat, who has done so much to make this story good. 
> 
> Thank you so much for any comments, I hope you enjoy this chapter, please let me know it always helps. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Prince and Pretender

** **

The white crystal sparkled in his hands. It caught the sunlight as he turned it this way and that. Virgil stared deeply at the object that was about the side of a tennis ball with various icicles poking out. So a pointy tennis ball that would either get stuck or destroy a racket if he actually tried to play with it. Or else it would melt. The object was ice cold to the touch. It made Virgil wonder if it was actually an ice crystal or if it was just the throne room he was still standing in that made it seem that cold. Either was possible, but then again, neither mattered. It wasn’t what it looked like or even what it was made of that made this object the most precious item in the whole of the Imagination right now.

Inside was the answer to his quest. The cure to Roman’s memory loss because it _was_ Roman’s memories. All contained inside this little ball which glowed as the light hit it, Virgil gazing into it. Now that he took the time to properly look, he could see all manner of colours within it, brilliant flashes of pigment that blended together to form a rainbow after rainbow and of course it would contain dozens of rainbows within it. It was Roman’s memories and what else could it be, if not extremely gay? 

Virgil felt a sad smile curl onto his face as he stared down at it. Absently he turned it over in his hands, thumbs brushing over the surface and tracing the rainbows as they wound their way over the crystal. 

The creative side wasn’t even here and he was still the gayest, most dramatic person in the room. If he could remember his own history he would probably be so proud of this moment. Virgil would have to settle for being proud for him, for letting this image burn into his mind so that he could tell Roman about it later, when enough time had passed. It would no doubt be raw at first but Virgil hoped there would come a time when he could look back at not having his memory and the whole thing be more water under the bridge. He might even have forgiven Virgil by this mysterious far away time.

Virgil really hoped Roman would forgive him. 

He didn’t know if Deceit told him what was happening or not though. Knowing his brother as he did, Virgil had a sneaking suspicion that Deceit wouldn’t have been able to resist bragging a little after Roman had eaten the jelly. At the very least he was probably going to know who was really behind it, which meant Virgil was going to have to beg Roman not to do anything foolish, to leave Deceit in peace. At the worst end of the bragging fear of course, was that Deceit would have told him _everything_.

It was no less than he deserved, of course, Roman should know who was to blame for what had happened. It didn’t stop Virgil from feeling a bit selfish, however. He didn’t want to lose the friendship he had with Roman completely. Then again... if Deceit had told him, it would save Virgil the agony of having to do it himself because sooner or later Roman needed to know. He had trusted the wrong person when he had so casually tossed his faith in Virgil’s lap and it wouldn’t do for the creative side to make the same mistake again. 

Virgil should have asked Deceit what had happened exactly but he had been distracted, too caught up in the thrill of knowing that he had managed to convince him. That he now held in his hands the very thing he wanted. It wasn’t until after Deceit had left, the darker side saying something about having to get ready for an important event that all the questions came flooding back to him. Too late. Always too late and that could be Virgil’s new motto in life. 

Legs felt wobbly. As though he had been on some hideous exercise course instead of simply standing still. Virgil just wanted to lie down and sleep for an eternity, the sort of nap that he loved. If he could sleep long enough then maybe all of his problems would have somehow managed to resolve themselves by the time he woke back up. When in doubt, hide under the covers until the sun goes away and with that, all the problems. Of course the problems would still be there when he climbed back out of bed but that probably just meant that he hadn’t been hiding for long enough.

Or that Virgil should face his problems head on, but what was he, a brave idiot or a cowardly idiot? 

The second clearly and it made Virgil want to laugh, something as sad as his smile, to fill the quiet space around him with giggles that were anything but pleasant. He settled on the edge of the throne, legs swinging backwards and forwards absently as he carried on staring at the object, letting it chill his skin even further. 

Virgil wasn’t even really sure why he was hesitating. This was what he wanted, what he had been trying so hard to get. It was the answer to all his problems and all he had to do was break it to free the memories. They would seek out their original owner, wherever he was and return to him. Easy. One step and everything will be fine once more. Or so Deceit said and the instruction seemed simple enough, clear enough that even Virgil should be able to follow them.

It couldn’t be that simple. 

Things were never _that_ simple. 

Teeth caught at his bottom lip, Virgil worrying at it, chewing slowly as he stared at the orb, as he tried to work out what he was thinking, feeling, and why it should matter. Why hadn’t he just tossed the orb onto the floor and been done with it? Why was he still keeping the moment at bay? True, Deceit probably hadn’t told the whole truth. Virgil didn’t really think it was possible for him to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Still, he didn’t think he would leave anything out on purpose that could cause a problem, not really. Deceit wanted him to restore Roman’s memories because if he did that Virgil had agreed to a price in return. But that wasn’t anything like he had expected either.

It was yet another example of how he should have known better, should have trusted his brother to have already played the game several moves in advance. It was how Deceit saw a lot of his interactions after all, as some giant three dimensional game of chess. He was always playing, always planning something, working out what he could get from every conversation he ever had.

Normally that infuriated Virgil. Very occasionally, it brought a hint of warmth to his cheeks when the game was to protect him, to know that Deceit was trying harder than he would ever admit to. He would fight to the bitter end and beyond in order to win. Even a retreat was rarely actually admitting defeat, but rather something more tactical, changing the situation and coming at the issue from a different direction.

Deceit was a terrible little try hard and Virgil was willingly going to pay his so called ‘price’. 

Did Roman need to know about that? It didn’t affect him after all, although Virgil almost suspected it was the whole point of this. The moment that Deceit had realised Virgil seriously wanted to return the memories he had scrapped the game he had been playing and had started a new one. The second Deceit had told him what it would cost him to restore the memories, he had started to wonder if this had all been one of his annoying games that he liked to play. 

Maybe Virgil hadn’t actually won the argument but Deceit had just let him believe he had. 

Still, that didn’t explain why he was hesitating, why he sat here lost in thought. Why didn’t he just end of all this? Then he could go home. He could hide like he wanted. Virgil’s arm felt heavy, weighed down by the orb, as if it was trying to rejoin the ground all on its own. The whole situation felt heavy, made him want to weep, to just sink down in a heap and never move again.

“Virgil!” 

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, blinking a couple of times as he tried to work out how long he had been sitting on the throne, lost in his own thoughts. They had been chasing their own tails for a while now, twisting and hissing on a route worn thin by the pressure. It had felt like an eternity and at the same moment, no time at all. The shadows had lengthed on the statues dotted around the lower half of the throne room, casting them into sharper relief. 

Which only made them creepier of course, Virgil feeling a shudder run through him as he took in some of the expressions of horror which lingered across some of the perfectly sculpted faces. Horror and terror, bodies twisted and cowering in fear or trying to run and yeah, yeah, Virgil really hoped that they had started out as statues, that when Roman had created the world he had decided to skip the step of actually torturing slivers of Thomas’ mind. 

One of them was moving. No. No, now that he took a moment to focus, it was obviously Roman darting through the stone statues, almost flying as he ducked this way and that, crossing the distance between them in a matter of moments. He wasn’t wearing his prince outfit, opting instead for a pale red loose fitting top with a cream jacket over it. There were hints of his old self in the colour choices but they were washed out compared to the vibrant tones he normally went for as though Roman still wasn’t sure what he wanted from his clothes. Not that the clothes mattered. It wasn’t as though Virgil was going to get a good reading about Roman’s mental state from the clothes he was wearing and yet they slipped into his thoughts all the same. 

Roman almost fell over his feet as he skidded to a stop a few feet away from the throne, in exactly the same space that Virgil had stopped when he had confronted Deceit originally. 

Except he was the one sat on the throne this time. The thought rested uncomfortably in his mind, even if Virgil couldn’t quite put his finger on why it made him feel the way it did. All he really knew for sure was the thought made him stand, dragging his protesting body back upright. Upright was almost as bad, towering over Roman, that unpleasant but maddingly vague feeling persisting even now. He felt even more torn than a few moments ago. Pulled between sitting down once more as his body wanted, giving in to the weight and tiredness, or moving forward to crouch down to Roman’s level. As though that would somehow make the bad things go away and they could be happy again.

Limbs couldn’t decide either way and so he remained frozen in place, trapped by his own indision, victim of his own inaction. Maybe _that_ should be his new motto - victim always, but only because of his own flaws.

“Virgil... wait...” Roman bent over, hands on his knees as he drew in great lungfuls of air, trying to catch his breath. Virgil felt a frown grow on his features as he stared down at his still panting friend.

Had Roman really run all the way here? It probably wasn’t that far from the Wardrobe anymore. The world would have carried on contracting in its death throes. Still, if Roman hadn’t even bothered to walk or call for help, then he must have been desperate, not thinking clearly. 

Something twisted in Virgil’s stomach, a dark, unpleasant thing to match the dark thoughts. How on earth had Roman even known he was here? Why was he here at all? Was he mad that Virgil had gone off on an adventure without him? That was the sort of thing that Roman would have once gotten worked up about and then thrown a dramatic fit that he didn’t really mean but felt he had to do for the drama. He would have sulked for days but there was a seriousness to this moment, an added weight that told Virgil it wasn’t that. As much as he wanted it to be that, the cynical part was telling him not to get his hopes up.

That part of Virgil was normally - depressingly - right and so he had learnt to listen to its advice over the years. He listened to it now, let it whisper and vent at him, warning him that this was something dangerous and so he needed to put his walls up. Defend his heart before Roman did something that would truly hurt. Virgil didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to think that his friend was about to do or say something terrible but his anxiety was screaming at him now. It made him want to scream in turn, Virgil able to hear his heart in his ears, a thundering beat that only grew louder and louder with every passing second of otherwise silence.

“What?” He couldn’t bear it any longer, the noise that wasn’t scaring him so much more than his heart or the screams inside his head. Roman’s silence was agony in its own right, a pain which made Virgil twitch slightly, shifting from foot to foot, the orb still cradled ever so carefully in his hands. 

“Don’t... don’t do it,” Roman told him at last, straightening up once more, a pained expression on his face. “Don’t restore the memories, I don’t want them back.”

“Wh... how can you not want them back?” Virgil gaped at him. He’d suspected that Roman was a little... doubtful about who he had once been but not like this. There was a far cry between not being sure if every choice that you’d made in your shadowy past was the right one and deciding the best way to handle that uncertainty was to cut everything out of your life to do with it completely. He almost wished they were back in those few moments before, when it had been a world of possibilities as to what Roman wanted because at least it hadn’t been this. 

Not to mention that he knew why Virgil was here. Somehow he knew and Virgil had no clue how he knew what Virgil was doing and why, but somehow Roman was aware that the ice palace was the answer to the mystery. Somehow Roman knew that the story was meant to reach its dramatic conclusion here. Strangely fitting that it should be the two of them in an abandoned throne room. 

Prince and Pretender. 

Only Virgil didn’t know anymore who was who. Not for the first time since this whole mess started, he found himself mourning the loss of innocence that age and experience had brought him. Things had never really been as simple as his memories painted them as time giving them a rosy glow. Logically he knew this, he could almost hear Logan’s voice in his head picking things apart, pointing out all the flaws in his memories, moments that he had glossed over or straight out ignored to create the fantasy that he had been happier back then. 

Right now however, Virgil just wanted to indulge in the pretence and imagine a time when things hadn't been complicated. When he knew the right thing to say or do and there hadn’t been any painful choices to make. He should have been faster. Virgil should have smashed it the moment Deceit had given it to him and not waited around like an idiot. None of this would have happened if Virgil had just followed the single step and ended this whole thing. 

Eyes flickered back down to the object still held in his hands, Roman’s gaze following him. He heard the sharp intake of breath as the other side stared at the object, the sound of soft footfalls as Roman took another faltering step towards him. Brown eyes lifted to watch, trying to work out what was going on in that head of his. Not that the creative side seemed to notice his gaze, his own attention still firmly fixed on the item in Virgil’s hand. Roman stared at the orb with a mixture of fascination and horror. It was the kind of look Logan had whenever there was a cat in Thomas’ near vicinity, with Patton cooing about how cute it was and how they should just accept death. 

It almost went without thinking, that it wasn’t a good look. Hand stretched out a little towards it, the tremble clear to see as Roman finally spoke, voice a little more than a hushed whisper. 

“Is... is that them?”

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t known that Virgil had gotten this far but he knew now. Virgil felt his fingers curl tighter around the orb. As if he was going to somehow protect it against Roman and what an absurd thought to think. The memories contained within belonged to Roman in the first place and it was surely up to him and him alone what happened to them. It wasn’t as though he was going to damage the memories, no matter what Roman had just said, surely he wasn’t going to turn his back on a lifetime of thoughts and feelings. A whole spectrum of experiences just waiting to be rediscovered. 

Except that the look in Roman’s eyes didn’t exactly speak to the more optimistic parts of his mind. Rather, it spoke to that same cynical part of him that had worried at this thread of thought to begin with, who had worried this was something bad. Bad seemed so optimistic now, so naive almost, as if it couldn’t even come close to describing the horror show this moment had become. 

If he gave the orb to Roman right now, Virgil knew with an iron clad certainty that he would never see it again. Worse, he would never see the Roman he had grown up with again, the one that annoyed him true and had even made him cry on occasion but still the bravest, best prince that Virgil had ever known or wanted to know. It was an honour to stand beside him, to banter with him and to be considered part of his family, one of his friends. 

_And an emo who's now our best friend._

Roman had written that. Admittedly in the hope that Virgil would sing with them after the first line had gone down like a lead balloon. Virgil had sung that line in the end though, he had given Roman what he had wanted, if that was all then there was no reason to keep trying, to push and push.

Expect it made everyone else happy too, Virgil’s thoughts twisting and snapping back on themselves, tiny angry bite marks in his mind. Roman lived for praise and he hadn't got it from the first version of the song. It made everyone happy, so maybe it wasn’t for him. Maybe it was irrelevant that Anxiety had been singing when compared to the grand scheme of making it a good holiday for everyone, the great plan of being together.

Still he wanted Virgil to sing _with_ them. Roman seemed to honestly want to include Virgil and had gone to great lengths in order to achieve that. Not because he was supposed to, now that Virgil was accepted but because he wanted to. He refused to leave Virgil behind in the cold any longer. The least Virgil could do was the same for him. Roman was his friend and he was going to do whatever it took to help him find his way home. 

Virgil had to say something. He knew he had to say something but his mind was blank, an empty canvas where the lone goblin working the controls had fled. It echoed to the drum of his heart, a solitary sad sound that only highlighted how empty his brain really was. All those thoughts about how good Roman was, how strong and noble and right, and yet they couldn’t seem to form into a coherent single sentence he could use to prove to Roman that he was worthy of being saved. Virgil was going to do whatever he could in order to drag Roman back but the other side needed to give him his hand at least. 

Virgil just had to work out how to coax Roman into doing that. He had to try at least. 

“This is who you are Roman, this is all the answers to all those questions you’ve had since you came through the Wardrobe that first night. I know it’s gotta be overwhelming, but trust me dude, once I do this... everything is going to be better.” Virgil did his best not to cringe as he spoke, at how weak and feeble his voice sounded, how uncertain he made it seem. He certainly wasn’t buying his own words and if he didn’t believe them, how could he possibly expect Roman to? 

“That Roman is a horrible excuse of a side!” Roman snapped, Virgil feeling himself recoil a little from the words, from an anger that he had not been expecting. So many possible emotions had come to mind, but not that kind of anger, as if the memories had somehow caused him physical pain without being part of him. What was he saying? What had he seen or what had someone told him? 

Had another Dark Side been whispering their lies? Virgil had left Roman alone and thus undefended. Well, not completely alone, Patton and Logan had been there but they didn’t know. They hadn’t lived with the Darker elements of Thomas’ mind, day in and day out. They hadn’t learnt how to be quiet, how to be small. How to make sure you weren’t noticed, that you didn’t become a target for their rage or worse - their boredom. 

Roman would have been a tempting target if they realised what had happened to him and of course they would know. The whole mind had to know, a seismic shift that had affected everything because of how important Roman really was. Even if he didn’t realise or believe it at times. Virgil doubted they would have been able to help themselves if they had come across him. The chance to rebuild one of the most important elements of Thomas in their own image? To sow doubt in order to try and gain some more influence themselves. 

At the end of the day that was all they wanted. To have Thomas listen to them, because they were just as convinced that their way was the right way, the best way for Thomas to get what he wanted from life. They just didn’t care who else got hurt along the way, they couldn’t imagine or accept a world where they were not the dominant - the only - voice inside Thomas’ head. Making Roman smaller meant one of them might have a chance to become bigger at his expense. Not if Virgil had anything to say about it. Right now however, Roman was the one who was talking, his words rolling over Virgil like a wave. 

“He is cruel and mean spirited, selfish, egotistical! He doesn’t deserve your friendship and he certainly doesn’t deserve to come back! I don’t want to be him anymore Virgil. I’m going to become a new Creativity, a better one. Someone who treats everyone right, someone that Thomas can honestly be proud of.” Roman sounded so sure of himself as he spoke, far more confident than he had been recently with his memories. 

The blows kept on coming, mental shock after mental shock, each one pushing Virgil further and further underwater. The pressure on his chest felt real, a heavy weighted band that had snapped itself around him and was slowly decreasing in size. The level of self loathing that had suddenly appeared was breathtaking in all the wrong ways and Virgil had to hold in the urge to cry at it. So much hate. So much anxiety and guilt swirling around them both until not even the literal representation of anxiety could tell who was feeling what. 

“Roman...” Virgil tried again, unsure of what he could say in this moment but still determined to try. “If you just watch the videos, you’re no-” 

“I watched some of them,” Roman interrupted, Virgil’s mouth snapping shut at the words and would the surprises never stop? He expected Roman to hate the anxious side once he saw how he had really behaved, not himself. It was all so clear to Virgil, he had behaved badly at first. Sure his intentions had been good but intentions didn’t count for much when you showed up insulting and scaring the one person you had sworn to do anything to protect. It was just like the saying: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Anxiety had come so close to falling into hell. All those years of living on the outskirts, watching the light sides and being trapped in their world but never being accepted meant that he hadn’t learnt how to share, when to talk and when to listen. It had always been a brutal fight for attention, and Virgil hadn’t realised until it was almost too late - his old motto once again - that he was going down the wrong path. He was too much like the darker sides and that had sent Virgil spriling in horror. Anything but that.

So he had thrown himself into oblivion, had tried to wipe himself completely from Thomas in a desperate bid to make up for his mistake. He had gone too far in the opposite direction and Virgil was just so lucky that the others had decided to care. That _Roman_ had decided to care. 

"Then you saw what a good person you are," Virgil retorted and he might have a list of his own flaws burned inside his brain, a roll call of failings that would takes days to recite but if there was one thing that his past had taught him well, it was how much he loved the others. It was how great they all really were. If only the stupid goblin that worked the controls inside his head hadn’t decided that now was the perfect time to take its long awaited vacation somewhere sunny and away from here. 

“You _are_ a good person Roman,” Virgil added when it seemed that his first attempt hadn’t gotten any response. “You’re my prince and you’re Thomas’ hero. That is who you are, not your worst fears.”

Roman shook his head and Virgil had almost forgotten how stubborn the creative side could be. It was one of the few traits that every side shared, and at any other time Virgil might have marvelled and wondered what that really meant for Thomas. Right now, he just found himself wishing that it wasn’t that big a part of him, and that Roman would just listen for once. 

“I saw what I saw. I saw... what he was like and I’m telling you now Virgil I don’t want that. I don’t want to be a Prince anymore, I don’t want to shower you with cruel nicknames, to talk over the others, to act as if I’m better than the best of you. Just not as handsome as me, the nerve of myself! Everyone had the chance to show the others some love and he had to turn it all around to be about himself. No wonder you weren't comfortable about saying it." Roman was ranting now, hands lifting and falling in some terribly beautiful dance as he spoke, Virgil feeling his heart twist in perfect synchronisation to each and every movement, as if it was physically being manipulated by Roman’s hands. 

And that wasn't... that wasn't the point, not at all. That wasn’t what had stopped Virgil from going further than an ‘implied’ when he talked about his feelings. Roman could have been as earnest and as tender as he had been in Virgil's room, and the anxious side still wouldn't have been able to go any further than he already had. Even calling it an ‘understood’ thing had taken Virgil more courage than he had realised he possessed because what if they rejected him? What if they laughed - they did laugh but Virgil had grown to understand the difference between a mean laughing and laughing with someone, something he hadn’t understood when he lived down below. 

That was all his damage and nobody else's. 

“I don’t want to disappear and have him get up and walk about in my place. Maybe this is a good thing, yeah?” Roman asked, voice soft and earnest. So pleading, and Virgil always struggled to say no to Roman. Or any of them really. It was a good thing none of them had ever worked out his weakness because he shuddered to think what they would have done with it had they known back where he was merely the villain and someone to be pushed side. 

Only now Roman was unknowingly pressing on that most tender of spots, was using Virgil’s greatest weakness against him, trying to convince him of a course of action Virgil didn’t want to take. The world grew blurry, Virgil blinking furiously a few times as he tried to shake away the tears that had sprung to life in his eyes. 

This wasn’t a good thing. This couldn’t be a good thing. How could anything that left Roman a shadow of his former self be a good thing? How could he ask him this? 

“If you are truly my friend Virgil, _**my**_ friend, then... then let him go.”

The ultimatum felt like a slap across the face, something stinging and sharp, leaving Virgil gasping for breath, the sound short and shaking. Unlike the body blow sensation of earlier words that had left him feeling stunned and sluggish, this was like ice cold water splashed into his face, shocking his system and making him gasp, flinching slightly, his breathing still erratic and uneven. 

“Let. Him. Go. Virgil,” Roman repeated and gods why did he have to ask that? Say that? 

It was agonising enough when the choice had been between Deceit and Roman, but now he was supposed to pick between Roman and... Roman? How was he supposed to be able to do that? There was no right answer here, there wasn’t even a slightly less painful answer, because either one was a terrible betrayal of everything that Virgil stood for and would leave him without a friend. Whatever he did would be wrong and although this Roman didn’t know what he had done, how could Virgil possibly live with himself when he knew the truth? 

It was Roman’s life. His memories. Surely that made it... his choice? And only his choice? What right did Virgil have to impose his will on Roman after all? He didn’t have all the facts of course. It was impossible to have the facts without the memories, but the memories were the fact and he had to make the choice without them, Virgil growing slightly dizzy as his mind tried to reconcile the impossible. 

A Catch-22. Virgil didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to make the choice for Roman, he didn’t want to push and arrogantly claim that he knew best when it wasn’t his life, when these weren’t his memories. Roman apparently knew enough to know that he wanted no further part in his old life. He didn’t want to be a Prince again and what right did Virgil have to force that upon him just because he was selfish and weak, and missed the friend he was? 

“Virgil,” Roman breathed, all those dark and uncomfortable thoughts and feelings pressing against him, closer and closer until it felt as though they were going to suffocate him. 

Roman took the final step to make the small gap between them vanish, close enough that Virgil could all but feel his breath against his cheek, close enough that if Virgil wanted to, he could lean forward and let his head rest against Roman’s shoulder, granting him that comfort that he so desperately craved. Fingers pressed over Virgil’s own, Roman holding the orb with him although he made no attempt to pull it away. Something for which Virgil was very grateful for, right now he didn’t think he would have stopped him, his own grip feeling lax and loose. 

He couldn’t breathe, just looking into Roman’s eyes, his own brimming with tears. 

“Let him go...”


	15. The Weight of Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> To one of the most important chapters in the story. Time for some tasty Virgil and Roman interaction. As well as finding out what is happening with Roman’s memories! Thank you all for the comments you guys leave, it really means the world to me. The lyrics Virgil thinks to himself come from the musical _Wicked_, and are not my own quite obviously. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### The Weight of Memory

** **

It wasn’t like the movies.

There was no slow motion of the rest of the world, no moment where things seemed to snap into place in his head. No breathing out and understanding this was where it was always going. There was no split second choice where Virgil saw everything so clearly and realised what he had to do in order to save the day. Virgil couldn’t even point to the moment when he decided what he was going to do. In all honesty, he wasn’t even sure if there had been a moment, if there had even been a choice or if he had always known how this would end and his agonising over it had been mere duty and illusion, agonising over style instead of substance. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if to put it off for a second longer, as if he could somehow block out the sight of Roman’s sad eyes and thus deny the reality of what was happening. Virgil really wished he hadn’t gotten out of bed this morning. Too late for that. Again, again, a resounding refrain that made his insides quake, too late for second guessing. Too late to go back to sleep. 

Time to close his eyes, and leap.

“I’m sorry...” Virgil’s words were spoken in a whisper but they could have been shouted for how they filled the space around them. “I... you should be able to make this choice yourself. It should be up to you and only up to you.” 

Nothing but the truth. Nothing to summon back Deceit and if the world was fair and even and full of good people who always made the good, lawful choice then it really would be up to Roman. It really would be lawful and just. Not the best choice perhaps, but in a fair world it would be his and only his. Roman relaxed, fingers slipping a little from their grip around the orb. It was perhaps a little unfair to trick Roman like this, to make him think one thing when Virgil knew of all the words still unspoken. 

He didn’t know Virgil. He didn’t even know the world. There were no memories to tell Roman that the world wasn’t fair and filled with rainbows and candy. Nothing to tell him that Virgil certainly wasn’t the good person he had somehow tricked Roman into thinking he was. Nothing to warn him of a terrible string, a terrible betrayal. 

Go big or go home, so they said.

Well, in this case, Virgil felt as though he was going to do both. If he was going to ruin his friendship with Roman - again, a question, again a maybe as though something could be salvaged out of this wreck - then he was going to go out like a shooting star. Maybe the drama of the moment would one day bring a smile to Roman’s face. 

Maybe he would only hate Virgil for the rest of their lives instead of all eternity. 

Deceit had spoken of a price when he had returned the memories, he gave his own and Virgil willingly accepted that. Deceit hadn’t realised that there was a second price, that there would be more to pay. Maybe it was the Imagination shifting again, forcing them to obey the rules of this place, the random whims of a mind much bigger than their own having decided that what Deceit had bound Virgil to agree too wasn’t payment enough. 

Was it supposed to hurt this much? 

Doing the right thing? 

How could Patton _stand_ it all the time? To be the representation of right and wrong, to be morality and know that sometimes that meant doing things you didn’t really want to but knew that you had to? For the good of someone else? 

“I’m so sorry,” Virgil whispered once more and there had to be something in his tone that betrayed him that time, something that made Roman frown a little, mouth forming into a small little ‘o’ shape as he started to ask a question no doubt. Or say something that Virgil really didn’t want to hear. He couldn’t give Roman any time to work through it in his head, he couldn’t be selfish for any longer. No matter how comforting it was to have his friend this close, to call him his friend, Virgil still was weighed down by the knowledge it would be the last time. 

And all last times have to come to an end. 

Virgil pulled his arm back and with all the strength he could muster, he threw the orb of memories, watching as it sailed past them both, flying above Roman’s attempt to catch it and spinning through the air. There was no stopping it now, no changing the course of this action. He was committed and in those few seconds all Virgil could do was mourn what was about to end. 

His aim was not what it could be. 

The orb flew through the air, glancing off the cheek of one of the statues, a crack of light shining out from the round object, a lightning scar shape as if the orb was nothing more than a golden - white - snitch and Harry Potter all in one. It was a reminder that even in this moment, the Imagination ruled all, that everything tied back to Thomas and the many worlds he loved. 

This throne room was not everything Thomas represented. Which meant this moment was not everything that there was to offer, it wasn’t everything that Virgil had left to encounter. Virgil wasn’t sure yet if that was a good or bad thing. 

For one glorious moment the whole throne room was filled with rainbow light as all the colours spilled out, bathing them in reds, oranges, yellows, greens, purples, the works. It gave even the most disturbing of the statues an almost playful edge to them, a hint of life outside of the misery and terror their expressions might have otherwise implied. Virgil found himself staring at the statue the orb had collided with, eyes fixed on that instead of anything else. He stared until his eyes started watering, the vivid colours of the rainbow bleeding into the corner of his vision and giving the whole situation a somewhere psychedelic look. 

At any other time Virgil might have found it amusing, in a wet, choked sort of laugh that didn’t actually speak to any sort of humour. It might have been funny, in a dark, terrible sort of way, that the statue the orb cracked off was that of a faun, complete with a scarf and somewhat scandalised expression. 

“No!” Roman’s cry tore him from the moment, the sound ringing out all the clearer because of how quiet the room otherwise was. Finally, Virgil allowed himself to look at the other side. There was such betrayal in his eyes, such pain that it took his breath away. It made Virgil want to run away and hide, to know that he was the cause of such a look, that he had hurt Roman in such a way. 

So much for being Protection. So much for being _good_. 

A good person didn’t hurt someone he considered a friend like that, he didn’t just stand there and let the pain continue to wash over them. A good person didn’t go against someone’s stated wishes. Whoever and whatever Virgil was, he couldn’t claim that word as his own any longer. 

The water in his eyes got worse, vision blurring a little before he tried to blink it away, the stinging sensation only growing worse because of it. It was a mistake because getting rid of the water only threw the image of Roman’s betrayed and pain filled face into sharper contrast, only made his mind burn that image indelibly into his memory so that every blink simply brought it back up. The new star billing in his own personal horror show. 

Virgil couldn’t look any longer. He didn’t know how long he had been staring - seconds, minutes, hours? It felt like an eternity but it couldn’t be anywhere close to that because the memory ball was still in the air, the moment was still in the balance, colours radiating from it as it went. 

As if in slow motion, the orb continued its descent downward, flying at an awkward angle now, almost sideways as well as forwards. It hit the ground at the same angle, orb crunching and collapsing under its own weight. 

The rainbow light became unbearably bright as the orb itself disintegrated, colours blending together, their own vibrancy fading under the sheer brilliance of a pure white that offered nowhere to hide, no escape from its scorching light. 

Virgil twisted his head away, eyes screwing shut but even through his eyelids he could still see the white, could feel the burn as it became impossibly brighter and brighter. He lifted a hand as though that would somehow block it, the white bleeding into red through his skin, lighting up all the blood that pretended to pump its way around his body, that gave him the appearance of being human. 

And then - 

Roman _screamed_.

\--

Right up until the second that Virgil had thrown the orb, Roman hadn’t quite believed he was going to do it. Even when his voice had twisted and broken on that apology and he had heard everything that wasn’t being said, still Roman hadn’t thought that he would really do it. That he would choose the other Roman over himself. Something which made no sense to him because how could Virgil ever want that version of him back? Not to mention, everything he knew of Virgil told him that he would never betray a friend like that and Roman had hoped to count himself amongst the dark eyed side’s friends. 

He had seen what he had been like to Virgil in the videos, he had seen the hostility and why would Virgil want that back? What could he possibly see in the old version of Roman that was worth saving, even at the expense of the new one? 

Yet that seemed to be the reality because Virgil threw it and Roman missed his chance to catch it. 

There wasn’t really time to ask any questions and where time had seemed to slow for Virgil, to Roman it was as though the opposite happened. The orb spinned over his fingertips with dizzying speed, ricocheting off one of the statues and crashing to the ground before he could do as much as form a single thought, able to shout a mere two letter word and nothing more. 

The light swept upon him fast, engulfing the room in a harsh, horrible bright light that seared its way through him, striking him as though it was made up of some physical force and -

And - 

And Roman remembered. 

**Everything**. 

The world was on _fire_. Endless agony that ripped him apart at the seams, Roman hearing the roar of his scream as though from a distance, not even realising that he was the one making the sound. He was bathed in the flames of a life exploding around him, as all the memories fought and jostled to return to some semblance of order. Suddenly, there it all was, back inside his head where it belonged. Every high and low, every glorious moment and crushing defeat. All back inside, all replaying on his closed eyelids like a movie in the highest definition, complete with more than simply surround sound. 

He felt it. He _felt_ it. It was as though Roman was living through those moments for the first time all over again only now they were all happening at once, a whole lifetime of memories and experiences condensed down to a few seconds of reality. They overlapped, each struggling against the other, all demanding to be heard and convinced that this memory was the most important, the one that would define who Roman really was. They all wanted to be heard and there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the order in which they bloomed up in his mind, unfurling to all their great and terrible height.

Roman dropped to his knees without really thinking, hands lifting up to his head as he screamed and screamed. His voice was the only outlet he had for the agony that was burning through him, each memory slamming into the one that came before with all the force of a truck hitting a wall at full speed. 

It was so much. Too much. All at once.

He couldn’t breathe. There was too much going on, Roman simply screaming once more, and there had to be a breath of a sort for him to make such a sound but he couldn’t control it. Roman couldn’t seem to control much of anything at the moment, his whole body racked and twisted by the overload of emotion and thought that wanted to consume him. 

He could feel the tears that were running down his face, hot salty tears that spilled out through mostly closed eyelids, winding their way down his cheeks in order to fall to the ground. The faint sound of ice shattering delicately at his feet danced in and out of his awareness, the drops freezing in the brief moment it took for them to fall. There was something else too, some other sounds besides agony and breaking. Over the sound of his own screams he could almost hear his own name being called, his mind scrambling to put a name to the voice. 

Too much. 

Still too much. Every part of him was bursting and there was no room to place names to voice or indeed anything else. There was no place for anything but the images that were searing themselves deep into his mind, particularly nasty moments of his life making him jerk and scream harder. Roman’s eyes were closed, tight as if that could somehow stop the light or the tears. 

It only gave the images a blank canvas to protect themselves on. 

Roman remembered helping Thomas win the golden apple. The sheer pride that he had felt as he had seen his host lift it above his head, and that was the moment when Roman believed that they could actually do this. Well, he always believed they could do it, always knew that thanks to him, Thomas would be the best that he could be. But that was the first time that he believed that he could convince Thomas of that too. That was the first time Thomas seriously considered - if only for a few moments before pushing it aside for the time being - that he could make acting his life. That Roman could be his life.

Nobody else had helped Thomas win that, or so Roman had been at pains to point out. It had been their victory - no Roman’s victory alone and the idea that Anxiety might have played a part in it had sent him into bouts of laughter, the sort that wasn’t humorous in the slightest. He had been so cold, so cruel to Anxiety in those days and although Anxiety had given as good as he had gotten, Roman had never bothered to think there was anything serious in it. 

He had never wanted to know there was anything serious in it or that his words could ever seriously hurt Anxiety. Why should he care, when the other side did nothing but try and hurt him or his beloved Thomas?. What a fool Roman had been in those days, so naive. His rage fuelled comments he could remember now, moments that weren’t captured on video and were so much sharper, crueller than they had any right to be. Comments that must have hurt even if Anxiety never showed it. 

Dimly, above the roar of his own heart, Roman wondered who had looked after Anxiety after those moments or if he had been truly alone. Roman had the other two to support him whenever Anxiety managed to win an argument, and he could remember that now, how Patton would always be on hand to soothe his fragile ego, how he would bake cookies and remind Roman that he was the prince of their dreams. That always helped. 

There was always someone to help Roman, someone to lift him back up. A support system built in and even Logan was part of it. Even though there had to be plenty of times when Logan found his behaviour... an annoyance at best, he still supported Roman. He still defended him and chose him over the darker elements, he still fought with Roman when they had a goal to achieve. Roman had a family, he had people who loved him, and that made him stronger. Roman had simply accepted that as reality. He took it for granted that he would have this support, and never once cared about the very real possibility that Anxiety didn’t. Why would he? 

In his mind, Anxiety was the villian. 

And with that, came the bad memories too. It was far worse than merely watching himself on the screen because he could remember the myriad of emotions that surged through him as Anxiety pushed himself more and more into the spotlight. The rage that Roman felt at the thought of how Anxiety was taking time and attention that should rightfully be Creativity’s. What use did Thomas have for the darker, depressing side? All Anxiety did was bring the mood down and he didn’t understand why anyone wanted him to hang around. He didn’t understand why Dad would sometimes choose to try and spend time with him, when he could be listening to one of Roman’s epic quests. 

All the fans who had taken Anxiety to their heart were equally confusing and Roman had attempted not to let his hurt show at knowing that another side was almost as popular - more popular at times - than him.

Roman tried to see things from their point of view, he had done his best to understand what it was about the moopy emo that they liked so much, why there was such a large group of Thomas’ fans that wanted to see more of Anxiety - no, he hadn’t. He made a token effort to try and see things from their point of view before deciding that it was a wasted effort and that he had better things to do with his time than try and get to know their resident storm cloud. 

Because Roman was right and the rest of the internet was wrong, that was why. 

End of story.

End of act one instead. 

He remembered what it felt like to realise he was actually the one in the wrong. Like a physical blow, Roman remembered breathing in the air of Anxiety's room and the way the knowledge had settled on him like a slightly too heavy weighted blanket, shifted just a fraction off centre. He could feel it as though it was happening right this second, that moment when he had actually just looked at Anxiety and seen him for who he really was - not grumpy for the sake of it. Not _dark_ for the sake of it. Anxiety was their protector in a way that Roman could only literally dream to be. 

Not - not evil. 

Soaring higher at last now, and Roman remembered the first moment he realised that Anxiety was truly Virgil now. The moment later when Virgil pulled him aside after the Hogwarts video. His hands had been bunched up inside of his sleeves, a particularly nervous look in his eyes and Roman’s heart dropped into his shoes. Was Virgil mad at him? For calling him the dark and sinister one? For wanting to put him into a neatly labelled box and not have to think about it ever again. One side for each house, and of course An-Virgil had to be in the evil one.

Virgil hadn’t wanted that. And Roman cme to realise that he didn’t want to put Virgil there, that he didn’t see the other side like that. He had even offered up his own house, offered to share. Anything to make the pain in his chest go away. Anything to make Virgil smile again and that was the moment when he realised that the other side wasn’t a villain. And perhaps had never been once.

An anti-hero at worst. Virgil hadn’t wanted to talk about any of that however. He hadn’t even wanted Roman’s feeble attempts at an apology, effortlessly brushing them aside with little more than a smirk and shake of his head. Instead, he had wanted to... thank Roman? 

And didn’t that make Roman feel about five inches tall. 

There had been just a hint of a nervous smile threatening to appear on Virgil’s face as he spoke, his whole frame looking as though it was one wrong word from catapulting himself out of the conversation and literally out of the room. He reminded Roman in that moment of a partially skittish horse, someone that had been treated appallingly by every previous rider and was just waiting for the whip to reappear and dash his hopes. Virgil might had been so scared and yet he pressed on in saying what he wanted to say.

He had wanted to thank Roman for the effort he had made. 

It hadn’t been that much of an effort. To not make quite so many insulting remarks, to treat Virgil as an equal and worthy side, who deserved to be listened to and yet Virgil had acted as though it was something utterly novel and noteworthy. As if it was utterly breathtaking that they went through a video without too many insults flung his way and that they actually listened to him and what he wanted, what he felt. Things moved much smoother when they actually took notice of what Virgil had to say, and here he was, thanking him for listening. 

It made him feel even smaller to realise that to Virgil, it probably was completely new. 

Roman had helped do that. There and then, he vowed to make a serious attempt to get to know the anxious side, to do his best to brush aside his own ingrained opinions and thoughts, to ignore the whisper that pointed out how unfair it was that Anxiety was so much more popular than him. None of that mattered and so a new quest was formed, one that meant he would do whatever he could to prove himself. And to find out if Virgil was truly worth knowing. 

Spoiler: he was.

Roman didn’t need to relive all of his memories to know that. 

Best of all there was the moment when he realised Virgil was a friend, was part of his family and how he wouldn’t part with that friendship for the world. Roman didn’t even realise he was smiling, screams shifting to laughter as colourful memories that were good pushed against the darker ones from before. 

The four of them scrunched up on the couch to watch some film, legs all tangled together and there were far too many arms, far too many bodies. It had been impossible to move comfortably, with almost every attempt to grab a handful of popcorn ending with spilled food or nudging into someone. They had talked over the majority of the movie, eagerly swapping facts or trying to tell someone what had happened in a scene they had missed, only to miss the next scene and by the end of it, Roman had no idea as to the plot.

It had been perfect.

Even waking up the next morning had been perfect. Wedged between Logan and Virgil, the logical side sleeping on his shoulder, glasses crooked, a small trail of drool winding its way down from the corner of his mouth and onto the white fabric of Roman’s outfit. 

Which. Okay. Not amazing, yet still somehow perfect, knowing that the logical side still had this human element to him, that he was not as robotic as he tried so hard to be. It had been perfect because Logan had been there at all, and was willing to let himself be seen in a less than amazing light. He would have known that there was the possibility that this would be the eventual outcome. 

Logan had made the choice not to sink out and fell asleep with the rest of them. He chose to stay with his family, and that made all the difference, made a huge surge of feeling which far outweighed the momentary horror of discovering a small patch of wetness on his shoulder. 

Roman could remember smiling at that sight. The memory made him smile too, feeling the warmth blossom inside his chest all over again and he loved them all so very much. He loved Patton, Logan, Thomas and Virgil so much that it almost hurt - in a good way, in a way that was nothing like the negative memories and everything like this feeling of warmth and contentment which settled around him like a cloak. 

Then he had tried to move his neck and been reminded just why it was a bad idea to sleep on a couch in any situation, be it in a group or solo. The pain had been tremendous, almost worse than a stab wound, a burning fire that had spread up his neck and made him want to curse everything in existence. A pain that took time to fade, Roman having to force himself to stretch his neck again and again until he could move it without any discomfort at all. 

Virgil had warned them and like fools they had not listened. 

Then again, Virgil fell asleep in an equally uncomfortable position that made him hiss like a very angry cat when he woke up, so really, which of them was the real fool in that situation? 

Roman remembered the moment he had realised that Thomas didn’t need to be world famous to achieve his dreams. The second it had finally twigged for Roman that this was his world, his family, his friends. And that world was what Roman should be fighting to protect over everything else. 

Speaking of the world... This world had been created for Virgil to join him on a quest. A chance to really get to know the anxious side once and for all, to prove that he wanted to spend time with him for him and not just to keep Thomas level. They had done smaller things before, a brief walk here and there, the occasional duck into the side areas of the Imagination but this was something different. This was made all for Virgil, inspired by Thomas’ work in the real world of course but Roman had wanted to do something grander. He had wanted to make a world where everyone would see how great Virgil was. Where he could be a prince alongside Roman, and realise that Roman thought of him as great. 

It was a shame that Virgil had shown no interest in any of that, the hurt as vicious and as biting as it had been the first time the anxious side had shut him down on his attempts to explain. His thoughts and plans on how to map it out burst back into glorious life, Roman unwittingly letting his energy spread out, pushing against the fading light and restoring it to a world that Virgil might enjoy once more. 

Unknown to them both, a single green leaf sprouted on the tree nearest the lamp post. 

The thaw had begun.

It had hurt, when Virgil said no, but Roman had gone to all that effort and he wasn’t going to admit defeat and let it all go to waste. If Virgil didn’t want to join in, then fine. He would still visit it himself. 

Roman remembered meeting the White Wizard. He remembered the moment of amusement that the Imagination had cast Deceit in that role before the wave of sadness had crashed through him all over again and Virgil would probably have thought of something witty and dry to say at the sight of that. He hadn’t understood why Virgil didn’t want to join him in his game - they had quested before in the Imagination, albeit never on so grand a scale as Narnia and was that the problem? No, Virgil had seemed almost hurt by the mere suggestion and that had confused him even more than the actual no had. There was no real time to brood on the mysterious behaviour of his darker friend because one moment he was trundling through the snow and the next the story was playing out in front of him. 

If he was here alone then why shouldn’t he be Edmund as well as Peter? Who needed Virgil when he was Creativity, when he could do it all on his own? He was clever, smart, he was all the kind words that the White Wizard was cooing into the frigid air around them. There was no harm in eating the jelly and then telling the White Wizard whatever he wanted to know. 

It would give him something to react as when he returned to the role of Peter. Something to defeat... and... there was an answer there, something hovering on the edge of his mind, a little niggle to explain Virgil’s behaviour before a spoon was offered. The rich Royal Jelly smelled delicious, begging him for a quick taste. It was for him, it was all for him, and Roman could always count on the Imagination to sooth his battered feelings. 

Here, he was important. Here, he was favoured and that meant that this was his instead of Logan’s. Here, people were his friends without hesitation or obligation. 

He remembered the sweet, sweet taste of jam on his lips, so rich and satisfying, so much better tha-

Body arched upwards, a moment of agonising stiffness, Roman’s eyes staring sightlessly upwards towards the ornate ceiling of the throne room. The screams and laughter had long since faded away into ragged breaths, his throat worn by the sounds and all Roman was capable of doing now was the faint sound of wheezing. Eyes snapped shut as rapidly as they had opened, everything fleeing his mind and body in one exhale of air. 

He crumpled silently to the ground, unconscious before his body finished falling.


	16. Once A King of Narnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, chapter sixteen. Into the home stretch now. I’m suuuure there is nothing else to worry about here. No nasty surprises, just lots of warm hugs. We have some angst in this chapter, of course. But also some soft, soft platonic family moments. 
> 
> Thank you so much to all the comments and kudos, I love them all. And thank you so much to my beta, Kat, as always for her wonderful comments and help. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Once A King of Narnia

** **

_“ -ive you Queen Lucy the Valiant. To the great western woods, King Edmund the Just.”_

The voice was soothing and oh so familiar. It rose and fell at regular intervals, and felt as though he could just lie here and listen to it for the rest of eternity. That was tempting too, to just float in this warmth and comfort and let whatever was happening, continue to happen. It was dark and safe here, away from all the pressures and worries of whatever came before. The temptation rose, growing stronger with each passing second, as the darkness beckoned him back, pleading for him to just slip off once more. 

To just give in would be cowardly however and he was no coward. There was a world outside of this warmth, outside of the voice and Roman felt that he had a responsibility to go and find it. There were things he needed to do that he couldn’t accomplish while lying here, no matter how tempting that was. No matter how scary the outside world was. His brain felt a little sluggish, slow to wake up and work out just why it was scary. He only knew that it was. In this moment that was at once enough for him to accept it as reality and not enough to stop him from battling through in order to achieve his goal. To wake up. 

Roman opened his eyes slowly. 

The world twisted and spun a little as he did, taking long seconds to refocus into a ceiling he recognized. Only when it had all stopped moving did Roman risk turning his head to the side to stare at the person sitting on the bed beside him. 

_“To the radiant southern sun, Queen Susan the Gentle. And to the clear northern skies, I give you King Peter the Magnificent.”_

That face. He knew that face. He knew this person. Familiar fading purple hair dropped around his eyes, creating a shield almost as he sat there, slowly turning the page and reading on, voice low and soothing. His hoodie swamped him. It was almost a comfort item for moments of distress and now certainly seemed the right time to accept it was a moment of - if not distress - then certainly stress. It wasn’t a surprise to see the grey hoodie on him, to know somehow that it was giving him comfort. Yet something about the hoodie seemed... off. The wrong colour perhaps? Or the wrong shape, it was missing something from the hoodie which was against the man’s back. 

They hadn’t noticed he was awake yet and so Roman could stare a little longer. He watched almost transfixed as a tongue flicked out, presumably in order to wet dry lips. He watched as long fingers tapped a very soft, gentle beat against the page as he read. It was all very familiar and yet at the same time not, as though his brain had been reduced to a barely there internet connection and someone else was hogging all the bandwidth. He knew the answers, he knew that he knew that.

The page just hadn’t quite loaded yet and he was stuck staring at the man and waiting impatiently for the answers to form in his mind, to tell him who this was. Because Roman knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was someone who meant _everything_. 

Virgil? He had a friend called Virgil, someone he loved very much, someone that meant the world to him. No, wait, he had a couple of friends that meant everything to him. Pa... Patton? There was Logan too and... and yet, it was meant to be Virgil. Roman knew he was meant to see Virgil when he woke up because Virgil had been with him when he had passed out and surely after everything they had been through, Virgil wouldn’t abandon him at the very last hurdle. Not that his brain told him exactly what he had been through - too many tabs trying to open, not enough speed - but he was aware that he had been through a lot. And that during it all, there had been Virgil. 

It wasn’t really abandonment since someone was there, but it sure felt like it. Roman wasn’t sure what to think of that, what to make of it or anything at the moment. His whole body hurt, ached as though he had gone several rounds with the Dragon Witch and yet here he laid, staring at someone and trying to put the pieces together in the right order so that his mind would understand what was happening and who was with him. 

So close and yet so far. 

It wasn’t Virgil. It was...

_“Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia. May your wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens.”_

“Thomas?” Roman whispered. His voice felt raw, as if he had been using it too much lately. Even that single word hurt to say, Roman lifting a hand to rub at his throat in wonder. Thomas - and how could his brain have mistaken him for Virgil for even a moment? - lifted his head from the book, words fading off into silence as he realised Roman was awake. 

“Hey champ,” Thomas replied, carefully closing the book he had been reading aloud from and placing it on the small table beside the bed. He shifted a little, turning his whole body in order to face Roman. Thomas helped him upright, letting him lean against the headboard before offering him a glass of water. His throat almost cried at that, Roman weakly lifting a hand to try and clasp it, the burning in his throat seeming to grow now that he was fully aware of it. Even then, he had to hold the drink as well, giving it that added support and stopping Roman from just accidentally tipping the whole thing over himself. 

Real, blessed cool water and there wasn’t space in his mind to wonder why he thought real or why that was such a surprise, not when he could sip at it and let the liquid soothe his aching throat. For a moment, all Roman could think about was the drink, making himself sip at it slowly, enjoying every drop. Only when the pain in his throat had faded to a more manageable level did Roman focus back on the room around him, Thomas still sitting patiently beside him. 

They were in the real world, Roman noticed. Inside Thomas’ real-life bedroom and that was a surprise. The last thing Roman remembered was... was not here. Nowhere close to here. Wait. There was a real world? Which meant there was a pretend world. There was a Dragon Witch too, his mind helpfully reminding him of a previous thought which had passed by at the time without any such comments. The world seemed to hover below for a second, Roman suspended above it, staring down at himself, at Thomas. He felt the way in which everything seemed to drop, the whole of reality rushing up as he fell back down into himself. 

Recent events caught up with him as though hitting the water from a cannonball. 

It didn’t hurt in the same way as before. It wasn’t an all consuming fire that tore into him and burnt all his support away in a matter of moments, hungry flames licking at the edges of everything. This wasn’t a destructive rush of memory. This wasn’t like the agony of before, when it had felt as though his mind might crack apart from the pressure of the memories all trying to well up inside of him at the same time. 

It felt more like a slap. Something stinging across his cheek and giving him a little spot of heat to focus on. Something to distract him from the chaos that was all the thoughts and memories yelling to be heard at the same time. Roman closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a shaky breath as he tried to let the memories settle back into their accustomed place, as he let them shift a little and move around inside. 

Roman remembered everything again. He was himself again. 

Carefully, he let his eyes open once more, meeting Thomas’ gaze. Who smiled at him, expression tired, slightly worn. It was honest at least, just lacking the normal energy and warmth that normally came with one of his smiles. It made Roman ache a little, to know what was missing. As well as make him wonder what he had missed, how they had gotten from a throne room in the Imagination all the way to Thomas’ bedroom in the real world. And now his host was hovering over him, looking after him, when really it should be the other way around. Roman’s job was to look after Thomas. Not be so weak and helpless that he had to just lie there and let him do everything. 

Not to mention, where was Virgil? He remembered his friend throwing the orb that contained all his memories now, remembered his panic and fear. Roman had begged and pleaded with him not to do it, even going as far as to use their friendship against him. And still, somehow, Virgil had managed to remain strong, had stood up to him. 

Virgil had been so scared. 

The memory of Virgil’s face, of the pinched expression and unshed tears that had glistened in his eyes was like another body blow. This time to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him in the worst possible way. He wasn’t going to be forgetting that expression anytime soon, that was for sure. No matter what happened between them, even if - as he hoped - Virgil forgave him, Roman was still going to see that when he closed his eyes at night. 

Roman had to tell him that it was okay. That he didn’t blame him for anything. That whatever he might have said at the time, he didn’t mean it and he was so sorry for forcing Virgil into that position, for trying to use their new friendship against him, for threatening to destroy what they had built up so casually. How could he have thought, even for a moment, that Virgil would have wanted such a thing on a whim? This was Virgil for crying out loud! He spent five minutes debating which of two cereals to have, carefully considering the pros and cons of each. Even though he then always picked the same one, he still took the time to consider his options. 

It didn’t matter that Roman didn’t realise without his memories just how much Virgil valued the connections he had made in the past couple of years. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known that such a threat would hurt as badly as it must have done. He had still pressed down on possibly the most tender part of Virgil’s psyche, without any regard for the anxious side, too wrapped up in his own baseless fears. And then he had screamed as the memories had come flooding back, he had been too overwhelmed by them all to even think about controlling himself. Who knew how Virgil had taken that, how he must have been hurt and scared.

All Roman had been able to do in that moment was scream as the pain of the bad temporarily outweighed the pain of the good. He had unwittingly forced Virgil to listen to those screams, to no doubt blame himself for each and every ragged sound. Roman had to find him, had to let him know what had really happened and why he was all good now. 

But he had to talk to Thomas too. Thomas was by far the most important. Thomas was his host and that meant everything to Roman, just as he knew it meant everything to Virgil. And Virgil would... Virgil would understand surely? Virgil would know that he needed to have this conversation first, he wouldn’t hold it against him because if their roles were reversed, Virgil would do exactly the same thing. Roman resolutely ignored the little whisper that said if the roles were reversed, Virgil would never have had to make the choice, because Roman would be sat there with them both. They were different sides, different reactions. Neither was better than the other. 

Thomas had been affected by the memory loss in a way that nobody else had, not even Virgil. He had to know that Thomas was okay before he could focus on anything else. Roman swallowed, trying to settle the jumble of thoughts into something that made even a fraction of sense. A timeline for him to try and follow. 

“How are you feeling?” Thomas asked kindly, the creative side lifting his eyes from the bed cover to stare at him once more. He didn’t even bother to hide his surprised expression, the shock that had to be written so clearly over it. After everything that had happened, it was just typical that Thomas would still focus on Roman over himself, that he would worry over his side over his whole mental state. They were supposed to be focused on their host but sometimes, Roman felt as though they all got too wrapped up in their own issues too much sometimes and forgot they were meant to be part of a whole. 

Roman opened his mouth to respond before closing it once more, actually considering the words carefully. How did he feel? 

His body felt as though it had been through a great battle, it ached in all sorts of places. Including places that he hadn’t realised were capable of aching. Every inch of him felt as though it was littered with bruises that might be invisible to the naked eye but were still caked there. As if the memory of every battle and defeat, every wound that he had suffered in the Imagination were pressed on his skin and made invisibly real once more. 

And as for his mind... he... well, he remembered. All his memories were bouncing around his mind once more, everything that made Roman the prince he was today was back there. Some didn’t feel as though they belonged in the order they were currently sitting in but at least he remembered them all. 

The good and the bad.

Roman was still trying to work out how he felt about all of that, and it didn’t seem like much of an answer to give Thomas, to admit that he didn’t know how or what he was feeling. He was Creativity. Roman was meant to have an answer for everything. That was what he did and if he didn’t do that, couldn’t do that, then really, what good was he?

Then again, Thomas hadn’t given up on him when he had been a completely useless side, devoid of any ideas, without a single spark that he could fashion into an idea. He hadn’t given up on him when Roman had tried to run away from his responsibilities, when he had rejected being a Prince and tried so hard to be anything else. Partly because Thomas himself had been affected to such a large degree by his lack of creative drive, but he still held on and waited for Roman to sort himself out. He had trusted that all the elements of his mind would work together in order to get things back to normal.

“How are you feeling?” Roman asked instead of answering. His host gave him another tired smile, causing Roman to finally notice how black the skin under his eyes were. How long had it been since Thomas had been able to get a decent night's sleep? How long had he been sat here while an unconscious Roman had hogged his bed? 

Roman was going to have to get together with Remy tonight and make sure that their host not only actually got some good sleep, but that he was blessed with some really good dreams to make up for all of this. To start to make up for all of this at least. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that one night, one sweet dream would actually be enough. 

“I feel... I feel more me. You remember, don't you?” Thomas asked, voice still gentle and understanding. Far too gentle really and some part of Roman almost wished that Thomas was mad at him. He should be mad at him - then again, maybe they hadn’t told Thomas the truth? Maybe their sweet, good, kind host didn’t actually know how Roman had messed up and lost his memories through his own foolish pride and insecurities battling each other. Even if he did, Roman felt that Thomas would have forgiven him anyway, that he was far too kind to be mad at Roman for such a mistake, no matter how much he deserved that. Roman should not have been fooled so easily, he should have recognized the Royal Jelly for the trap it so painfully was.

He nodded slowly in response to the question, not sure what to say. Thomas lifted a hand to his neck, rubbing at it, another mannerism he had inherited from Virgil. Or perhaps vice versa. The motion brought a new wave of longing rushing through Roman, the wish that Virgil was here so that he could see him for himself and know that everything was fine. He wanted to see Patton and Logan as well, he needed to know his family was intact but neither of them had seemed as... broken, as Virgil had looked in the moments that he could remember. 

“I don’t... so uh, one moment I was lying on the couch wondering what I was going to do with the rest of the day because there were still hours and hours to fill, and the next I was bolt upright and I had all this energy, this enthusiasm to return to my projects. It was as if all those days of doing nothing had sort of built up in my mind and all that compressed Creativity was flowing out of me.” Thomas looked almost bashful as he spoke, as if it was a failing on his part that he hadn’t been inspired with any sort of idea when really it was all Roman’s fault.

“I don’t know how you did it, but I’m so glad you’re back,” Thomas finished and the honesty in those words felt like some burning thing, slicing deep through Roman. Thomas meant what he said and the look in his eyes just reinforced that. He was so proud of Roman, so pleased and happy he was back, and Roman had done nothing to be worthy of that kind of affection. 

“It wasn’t me,” Roman replied and there was a lot he would be happy to forget about recent events. There was a lot he needed to think about, a lot he needed to work through and maybe a lot he would be able to take credit for. He had helped in places and he had apparently been a good enough friend the first time around that Virgil would risk losing everything to save him. 

This wasn’t his victory however and it was wrong to let Thomas think that he had played any serious role in it. He wasn’t going to let Virgil lose that well earned praise. Virgil was the one who had done all the hard work and made the hard choice. He deserved all the praise and glory for what he had done. Too many times Roman had hogged the spotlight, had claimed their joint work as his own, as though Virgil had done nothing to contribute to them. This was by far the most important thing Virgil had done lately, and Thomas needed to know how brave he had been. 

“Virgil saved me. You. Both of us.”

“I had a feeling,” Thomas admitted, still giving Roman that soft, all too kind expression, the one that Roman wanted to stop and at the same time next wanted to end. It was the sort of flame that he wanted to shove his hand into the heart of it and see what would occur, an itch he couldn’t scratch. No matter how painful. 

“What happened?” Roman asked, looking around the room as though he might suddenly see one of the other sides leap out from the shadows now that he was feeling more awake and yell ‘surprise!’.

Well. Patton. He might see Patton do that. Logan would not be the sort to do anything like that although it made a hint of a smile twitched onto his lips at the image of Logan just standing there and in his best monotone voice muttering ‘surprise’. That was more up the delightful nerds alley. And Virgil wasn’t keen on loud noises. Strange, duel tongued voices sure where everything echoed and seemed to bounce around inside your head like you were in the strangest cave, but never anything actually loud.

Patton alone - and Roman if the roles were reversed - were the sort to shout and enjoy such a harmless, innocent prank. 

There was nobody there. Roman had to face the fact that he was alone with Thomas, that the others were probably trying to keep things going inside the mind, trying to keep Thomas whole while they waited for Roman to wake up once more. He lifted a hand to his face, draping it over his eyes slightly, in his best dramatic pose possible.

“I was in the throne room and then... I woke up here?” He couldn’t help but wonder if Virgil had told Thomas about the whole screaming fit. He really, really, hoped he hadn’t. That it was yet another thing that could just remain between the two of them. Not for the sake of his ego - although that was a good reason true - but because it would only cause Thomas pain and they had all sworn to do anything to avoid that. 

Thomas gave a small, barely there chuckle, something light and breathless. It reminded Roman so much of Virgil that it almost hurt. It always caught his attention, whenever his host did something that was so very much one of them, a turn of phrase, a hint of voice, a movement that made Roman think of his family and feel the ache that came with missing them. They could have just walked out of the room seconds ago and he would miss them. Roman needed them more than anything else in the world and always would. Everything that he deemed important about his life and his worth stemmed from Thomas and the other sides.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Thomas asked, the slightest hint of a tease in his voice, the first real feeling of things starting to get back to normal. At least he wasn’t treating Roman like some soft, breakable thing anymore, he was willing to engage with him on a more equal footing. For a moment at least before Thomas sighed, his eyes shifting a little to the side as he thought back in time. 

“Patton showed up with you a couple of hours ago. He said that Virgil had dragged you into his room unconscious and freaking out, said you had been hit by some magic and wouldn’t wake up. Unsure of what else to do, he brought you to me and you’ve been sleeping ever since. I was starting to think someone was going to have to give you a kiss Sleeping Beauty.” 

At any other time, Roman would have leapt on the Disney reference, would have gleefully enjoyed it or at least acknowledged it. This time however, all he could think of was something else Thomas had said.

“Virgil was... in a state?” Roman asked softly. Freaking out. Of course he had been freaking out. Roman had known that, known it was who Virgil was and after what had happened would have been a fully understandable thing. It didn't make it any easier to hear. 

“I... I don’t think I was meant to tell you that right now.” Thomas looked slightly frustrated with himself, as if he had made some great slip up by admitting that.

“Patton didn’t want you worrying. He said he would take care of Virgil and you would do best out of the mind so you weren’t affected by... any strong emotions that might happen inside. And I was to try and keep calm as best I could, to relax cool and not overwork myself while things settle down. He said they would all do their best to keep the feelings deeper which meant you had to be here.”

Strong emotions. That could mean anything, but they both knew the truth. It was a very specific emotion that was happening there. 

By any _anxiety_, Thomas was very carefully not saying.

By the mental breakdown that Virgil had probably suffered once he had gotten Roman to safety. That was the sort of person he was after all. Focus on the bigger problem, on Roman because he had to look after Roman, had to protect him. And then, when it was all done, he would have been able to allow himself to feel all those repressed feelings, whatever they had been.

It wasn’t healthy. And who knew how long Virgil had been stewing in them, holding them all inside as best he could so as not to hurt Thomas, when really what he needed was to talk to Roman, to know that Roman wasn’t mad at him. He just hoped the same was true for Virgil as well, that his friend didn't blame him for what had happened. He wouldn't be on the outside at least, because it felt as though it was physically impossible for Virgil to be upset at any of them. On the outside. 

What worried Roman was what might be going on the inside, all that self hate and loathing churning around in his mind, over and over until it became a poisonous swamp in there sometimes. Roman judged how badly he hurt Virgil on those feelings, because that was a true representation of how Virgil actually felt and how damaged he had been by events. 

He felt Thomas lightly touching his shoulder for a moment, dragging him back to the room with a deep breath. 

Thank heaven for no cameras and thus no invisible pillars or walls blocking them from each other. As much as Roman loved the episodes and the content they put out - not to mention the reaction from the fans - he truly hated the walls that sprung up as part of Thomas’ desire to keep it fictional. They couldn’t break the laws of physics like that, it wouldn’t do for the viewers to discover that he really did talk to himself and that various aspects of his personality could show up on camera. Far better to let them think Thomas was playing all the roles, which wasn’t really a lie. 

Sometimes Thomas even dressed up as them. It was flattering in a way. 

Right now, Thomas was able to touch though, Roman lifting his hand to catch it as it pulled away, fingers entwining tightly together. Right now, it was enough that he had this and not even all the fanart in the world could compare to the feeling of Thomas squeezing his hand and giving him a warm smile. 

“Hey Roman? I love you, you know that right?” 

Part of Roman wanted to brush that off with some glib, proud, lighthearted comment. Of course he knew that! Because of course Thomas loved him, everybody loved him, he was the Prince! He was, by his very nature, loveable. 

He was trying to be better though, he didn’t want to fall into the same old habits like before, because while his behaviour might have been a defence mechanism, to an outside eye - to himself without that knowledge - it could come across in the wrong way. He didn’t want Thomas to think he was acting cold, not after his host had taken such a leap for him. 

Maybe he had hoped it, every single night when he lay in bed and worried he wasn’t good enough for Thomas. To actually hear it out loud was so much better than he had ever dreamed, his breathing shaky and erratic, just replaying the loop of the words over and over in his mind. 

Plus, why would he need to defend himself around Thomas?

“I love you too,” Roman replied softly, letting the awe he was feeling come out in those words, making no effort to hide them. Thomas was his world - figuratively and literally - so it shouldn’t be a surprise that he felt so deliriously happy at those words. 

Thomas loved him. 

That... it was as though every Christmas and Birthday had come at once. Every celebration and every brilliant moment of his life.

Except he hadn’t spoken to Virgil yet. That - didn’t dampen his feelings of joy exactly, it didn’t change how ecstatic he still felt at knowing Thomas actually loved him... but it did bring everything else he had been ignoring into a new type of focus. Roman would bask in the feeling of this love later. It wasn’t going anywhere. Not now he knew the truth. 

His body protested as he slowly pushed himself into a seated position. Roman made sure to take his time, to not push himself too much because no matter how badly he wanted to rush off back into the mind, he knew his physical form wasn’t ready for that. No matter how floaty and happy he felt at knowing without a shadow of a doubt that his host loved him. 

Thomas hovered over him as he did, clearly one wrong move away from turning into a complete mother hen and telling him off, possibly even pushing him back down onto the bed. He had been lying there for too long now, had let far too much time slip away from him and that just would not do at all. It took a little while but he managed to sit up, and the world didn’t even spin very much as he did. 

“Easy,” Thomas murmured, Roman nodding a little to show that he heard him but he couldn’t let this momentary weakness stop him. Not when he finally had a quest once more. He was fueled by one thought now, and one thought only. 

Roman had to talk to Virgil. 

\--

There was just one problem with his plan - nay, his need - to talk to Virgil. 

Actually tracking down the anxious side in order to do it. Who knew that Virgil could hide as well as this? Well, Roman had sort of suspected as much, but it was still frustrating to know that the anxious side could hide like this, that he would leave Roman hanging and unable to talk to him. Roman really needed to talk to Virgil. He needed to chase all the bad thoughts out of Virgil’s head and get some of his own pushed away too. 

Ever since they were kids, Virgil had been good at hiding. Too good. Roman had refused to play hide and seek with him growing up because he would never be able to find him. Virgil had never really wanted to play the game anyway, because he didn’t like playing games with them so that worked out just fine.

Only later did Roman learn the reason Virgil had always tried to refuse was that he had been afraid that Roman would just stop looking for him and Virgil would be left in his hiding spot for days, too worried about coming out in case Roman was still looking and he ruined the game. Better to ruin it without starting rather than during it. Because he always ruined the games with the others, so it made sense that he would with the light sides too. 

And didn’t that make Roman feel like a brand new piece of dirt. 

He knew how to be quiet, how to be still. At the time Roman had just put it down to the trait that he represented within Thomas, had listed it as one of the many reasons why Virgil couldn’t be trusted, that he was dark and evil because he had this habit of appearing without any sound or warning. You didn’t need to sneak about, unless you were the sort to try and sneak into places unwanted. When you had sneaky, devious plans and who knew what Anxiety could have done with that power.

Now he was older and so he liked to think wiser. Now, he wasn’t sure if Virgil was naturally like that or if the world had taught him to be like that. Now he wondered just how Virgil could have ruined the games and if his fears were perhaps more real than he had been willing to admit. 

Or if Roman wanted to know the answers to those thoughts. 

Virgil was ignoring all summons - even Thomas hadn’t been able to coax him into suddenly appearing in that startling way he did. He didn’t come out when Roman tried or when Patton used his best father type voice to try and coax him into a conversation or a family meal. Virgil was still there within Thomas, was still doing his job. He still had his anxiety, it just seemed as though his Anxiety wasn’t keen on interacting with any of them right now. 

Do not interact signs were all but plastered over Virgil’s door, an ice cold draft that left nobody in any doubt that this was meant to be a no go area. It was enough to freeze the blood in Roman’s veins. It was clear that nobody was welcome in Virgil’s space right now. Needless to say, knocking on it hadn’t gotten any reaction. Roman had still tried though, because he was starting to feel a little desperate. 

Calling him hadn’t worked.

Asking the others to call or talk to him hadn’t worked. Logan had seen him once or twice, just a brief greeting in passing, enough to know he was still there. Whatever Virgil had said to him the first time had been enough to make Logan refuse to try and call him out in public again. All Logan would say was that when Virgil was ready, he would come out and he wasn’t going to force the moment to happen. 

By his accounts Virgil had seemed jittery, as if he had consumed all the coffee in Thomas’ kitchen in one sitting, but he was still there, that he was still doing his job and retaining his form. He was still a physical presence as well as an emotional response within Thomas and that should have been enough for Roman. The fact that Logan said he should wait until Virgil was ready should have been enough for Roman. 

It wasn’t. 

Giving him time hadn’t worked. Or maybe it would, but there was so much time in the universe and Roman had tried to give it to him, but it was never ending and he didn’t know how much more of this he could take. 

Maybe pressing the matter was equally bad. It was forcing the issue before Virgil wanted to talk about it but he also knew his anxious friend. He would put it off and put it off for as long as he could. Who knew if Virgil would ever come out if left to his own devices? Who knew what horrible thoughts he had already managed to convince himself of without anyone else to talk him down. He could be strewing in some awful thoughts, spiraling and telling himself that they all hated him. That Roman hated him. 

Roman wasn’t a complete idiot, he knew how what he had said to Virgil just before he had recovered his memories could be interpreted. If the roles had been reversed then he would have come to the conclusion that Virgil hated him because of it. And he wasn’t even the living embodiment of fears and worries. If Roman could feel that, then Virgil had to be suffering at least ten times worse. He couldn’t just hang around and hope that Virgil might decide to ignore all that and finally come out of his room, to talk to him. 

The previous plans and attempts hadn’t worked but that was okay. Roman wasn’t Creativity for nothing. He still had one or two tricks up his sleeves. 

Time for Plan D.


	17. Of Deals and Deeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think it’s time to answer a couple of questions that have been thrown up from previous chapters. Including a very important one. Plus, we get to check in on an old friend. This one leans a little more into the Narnia setting, I hope it makes sense even without having read the books. There are also major spoilers for _the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ in this chapter, so if you’ve not read them... be aware? 
> 
> Thank you so much to all the comments and kudos, I love them all. And thank you so much to my beta, Kat, as always for her wonderful comments and help. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Of Deals and Deeds

** **

As plans went, it felt like one of his better ones.

It was elegant in its simplicity, and seemed easy enough to put into effect. He had spent enough time planning it after all. Roman would have been concerned if it hadn’t been doable, the number of times he had doubted it, swapped around the very few props involved. He had worried and wondered about what he would say until it was perfect. He had gone over his lines a hundred times and had changed the words almost as many times. When all was said and done, there was really only one door left open to him. He needed to find Virgil and Virgil was avoiding almost all of them. He was hiding in areas that Roman couldn’t really reach.

But there was one side that could. One side that had to know a lot more than what he was letting on.

Roman had a lot of time to think while trying to give Virgil the space he apparently needed. A lot of time to brood over his restored memories, to turn them this way and that to try and make sense of everything. He thought about his behaviour and how it had looked from the outside. How he had judged himself without the luxury of context, without any sort of understanding. Indeed from almost the opposite, a willful neglect that had almost ruined his friendship with Virgil, not to mention nearly costing him his own mind. 

The Roman he had previously been without his memories, had already decided that he was best friends with the anxious side. He had already made up his mind in casting him as a hero. Which was only the truth of course and Roman loved Virgil dearly and knew full well that he was a good guy, he hadn’t always come across that way. And Roman certainly hadn’t always been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

It was just hard to reconcile all that he knew now with what he had and hadn’t known then. Even harder when there wasn’t the journey to follow, when all he had to go on was how Virgil acted now, and his belief that Virgil was good. He hadn’t known him when he was darker, angrier, when he was more likely to lash out than to offer a hand and so that Roman had built a whole world up where they had always been friends. 

Roman couldn’t help but wonder if that enduring belief he had fostered without his memories, of Virgil hiding his actual feelings right from the start, and always wanting to be accepted, had perhaps been closer to the truth. Perhaps that was who Virgil had always been and he had never been the dark and stormy night that Roman had seen within him. He knew he had been wrong for the last few years at least, that somewhere along the way Virgil had... changed. Had grown more into himself and been more... not comfortable exactly and certainly not confident. But he had become more sure of himself and what he wanted for Thomas. To not be the bad guy. Unless he had always been that and it was just Roman’s consistent refusal to accept him which had cast him in various shades of dark.

He didn’t want to think he was completely in the wrong. It hurt too much to think that. And he had a feeling that Virgil wouldn’t want him to think that either. It would help if he could find the purple clad emo so he could hear it from himself but that still wasn’t happening. Leaving him trapped with the worry that perhaps he himself had been the villain of the piece all along. 

That was an uncomfortable thought. But he had nothing to do but think right now. 

Thomas was taking it slow, not wanting to burden them all and risk damaging their mental health. He actually managed to take a step back, to avoid taking on any more responsibility. He even let other people step forward in his place, letting them help him and help the work they were currently trying to complete. Thomas was part of a team and it was good to remind himself of that every now and then.

It was... nice to know they didn’t have new projects waiting for them. That all they had to do was focus on the here and now. Work on the small role that was adult Edmund, a mere scene that Roman could do in his sleep. And help a little with directing but that was someone else's problem now. Roman was more than happy to let Thomas mentor them, to gently nudge them as they needed without actually having to solve all the problems himself, without having to do it all by himself. Roman got to reach out and still do things, still fulfil his purpose but he wasn’t rushing around too hard, too fast, never looking back. 

In a little while, Roman would no doubt be bouncing off the walls in frustration, needing new stimulation, new ideas and areas to stretch out in but right now he could almost enjoy the fact that there was no looming deadline. There was no stress of a project, just healing and family time. Most of his family at least. 

It did mean that he had too long to think of course. And worry. And let those insecurities get the better of him sometimes, growing every day that passes without getting to have a proper talk with Virgil. 

Perhaps Virgil _did_ hate him, but as insecure as Roman could get sometimes, he knew that he needed to hear those words from Virgil himself in order to believe them. He could listen to his own mind attacking him all he wanted, but there would always be some part of him which refused to accept it. Some part that clung to the hero he so badly wanted to be and heroes didn’t make the sort of mistakes that he feared he had. Heroes didn’t hurt people. 

He thought about why he had made the choice not to be a Prince anymore. He thought about if he was going to stick with that plan or if he would revert to the outfit he had loved and treasured for so many years or if it was finally time for a change. 

It wasn’t really a hard decision to come to. The outfit won, but with certain caveats hung around it, invisible ornaments and tassels to improve his already great design. Roman was a prince and he was going to remain one, but he was going to become a better version of himself, a better him for the others to know and - hopefully - love. 

Most of all, he thought about his first trip through the Wardrobe, he thought about what had happened to cause him to lose his memories in the first place. He thought about his own fears and frustrations, and how Virgil hadn’t seemed to understand what Roman was offering him. Roman still wasn’t really sure why he had seemed so against the idea of playing with him, why he hadn’t wanted to go along with it in the first place. What had been so wrong about being Peter and Edmund? They had still sort of got his adventure, complete with horse riding, swords, monster slaying and high drama. Roman just wished he had been able to take more of a real part in it. 

That would eventually curl round to the thought of the figure in the sledge, to the jelly and the memory loss that followed. 

Roman had a couple of very strong suspicions about _that_ event.

Virgil’s behaviour in the throne room seemed to confirm them. He wouldn’t have acted like that because of a mere figment. As good as Roman was, not even he could create a being with that kind of free will, someone who could work against the rules of the game and twist them to his own advantage. By and large, the White Wizard should have stuck to the confines of the story, because that was the plot laid out for them. They could have changed small elements sure and Roman could believe them shifting their focus from an Edmund who wasn’t there to a Peter who was. Or he could believe them changing the effect that the candy would have. Or changing it from candy to something more tempting. 

Not all three. Not so that it would affect him beyond the limits of the imagination and whatever it had done, it shouldn’t have worked beyond the Wardrobe. 

No, Roman was confident he knew part of the truth at least.

That it hadn’t been a figment made up of the subconscious assets of Thomas’ mind. That it hadn’t been a White Wizard cast in the shape of Deceit.

But just Deceit. 

Like the snake in the garden, slithering his way into a place that was meant to be pure, that was supposed to be just for Roman and Virgil this time. Roman had worked very hard to create a two player adventure for them. Eventually, he would have expanded it to the others, he might even have offered Deceit a chance to play but Roman had really wanted a chance to get to know Virgil better. They were friends now, close friends, good friends. At least he liked to think so. Despite that, there was still so much he didn’t know or understand about Virgil. A thrilling adventure for just the two of them seemed the perfect way to solve that. 

And now Virgil was hiding from him. 

It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together and get a picture out of them, whether it was the right image or not. It was still a starting point, something for him to work from. Roman was always happiest when he had an actual goal, when he could turn the vague fuzziness of an idea into something he could work with, create from. Deceit had been involved. Virgil had gotten his memories back for him. Magic had been used. Virgil was avoiding him. 

Roman knew the rules of magic within the Imagination. How could he not, when he had been the one to create them? Influenced greatly by the stories Thomas read of course, but Roman had been the one to put all the steps in order, to slot them into the building blocks that made up the many worlds that Thomas could then dream into being. 

He knew how magic worked. 

He knew there was only really one way for Virgil to have gained possession of that orb. It would have cost something in return. What he didn’t know was if Deceit or Virgil would have been the one to pay - yes, yes he did. As if it would have been Deceit. No, Virgil would have been the one to step forward, to demand to take the blow, he would have offered himself up almost gleefully. Deceit had almost certainly planned it that way. 

Worse of all, Roman knew that because it was a pact between two Sides, it would have carried on beyond the limits of the Imagination as a kingdom, it would have rippled outward, until it covered the whole of Thomas’ mind and there would have been no escape from it. Whatever the deal was, the magic - the belief that Thomas had in magic, something so ingrained and real within him - would have meant that they would have been forced to honour it. 

He also didn’t know exactly what had been given up. 

It could have cost Virgil anything. It might even have cost everything.

Maybe that was why he was avoiding Roman. Not upset at him personally, but upset at what it had cost him, at what he had lost in order to save him. Roman knew his friend, his brother, his family when it came to this sort of thing at least. He knew it wouldn’t have mattered what Deceit demanded, Virgil would have paid it so long as it didn’t hurt one of the others either. Himself, possibly, but he would have thought that a cost worth bearing. 

He would have been wrong, but that was just the sort of side Virgil was. Loyal and self sacrificing to a ridiculous fault. 

Roman needed to fix this and he knew exactly where he was going to start. 

There was a spring in his step as he moved through the mind, slipping gracefully from one area to the next until he was in front of the door that led to Deceit’s room. It had been a very long time since he had last been in this corridor, the cooler air making a shiver run down his spine. Roman very deliberately didn’t look further down the corridor, didn’t look at a blank stretch of wall that had once housed a door, which led into a room that now existed in another form opposite his own. Roman didn’t need to be reminded of what Virgil had once been or where he had once lived. What was important was where he was now. 

Hand lifted, knocking briskly on the wood. He didn’t give the snake a chance to answer, pushing the door open a second later. The caped side jumped at the movement, spinning around from where he had been bent over a table, one hand still clutching something tightly. 

“Roman!” Deceit greeted, swallowing heavily at the sight of him. “What a wholly expected, delightful surprise...” 

Words of accusation died on Roman’s lips as he glanced around the room, taking in the very odd situation in front of him. Roman had never actually been in Deceit’s room before, had never felt the need. He was curious sure, had wondered a little what it was like but that half formed thought had never blossomed into anything that made him want to actually go near the room. 

Just as he had never wanted to visit Virgil’s room until he had been left with little choice. Even then he had made sure to make some comment about how tragic it had to be and sure, Virgil’s room had been... gloomy. Spooky. But it had also been filled with cuddly cats and cartoon spiders which danced on blue curtains. It wasn’t the sort of tragic that he had expected. 

Yet another time when he had wholly misjudged Virgil. Not the first and sadly, not the last. 

This wasn’t the time or place to be thinking about such things. He was here to confront Deceit, to get some answers, not stew even further in his own misery. And the reality of Virgil’s room did not explain the oddness of what he could see in front of him. 

The room itself seemed surprisingly normal - at first glance. It flickered and changed between blinks, as if reality was constantly forming and the reforming inside of it, coloured by so many lies and excuses. It seemed to dance to its own music, one moment dark and dull, and then the walls would shift, colours bursting into life. Patterns spread across it, sometimes random abstract ones, sometimes animals or objects. Clouds were drifting across it now, pale purple ones that made Roman clench his jaw together in frustration. A coincidence surely but one that poked at an already raw spot in Roman’s mind. Of course even here, he would be reminded of Virgil.

The clouds vanished, faint orange squiggles dancing across it instead. 

There was something almost creative about lying. A destructive creativity, but it was still there and that was something Roman had been forced to accept ever since they had visited the Mind Palace Theater. He might not agree with it but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a thing. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see things forever in flux within the room when Deceit wasn’t focused on it being one certain thing. At least, he hoped that Deceit could make it hold its shape and style for longer than a few moments if he chose because otherwise it was the sort of fun house that was bound to send you mad. 

What was odd was less the room and more what the yellow themed side seemed to have been doing. 

Deceit looked as though he had been in the middle of... putting a tea set away? A pair of dirty yet delicate china tea cups were resting on the side of the table, together with a teapot, a few plates, a small jug of milk. Clean or unused ones were set neatly on the other side. Between them, lay a larger place with a selection of biscuits and crumbs littered across it. Small little bees danced across the porcelain, tiny little specks of yellow against the white and blue backgrounds, looking far too cheery for the situation.

It was not the sort of tea set he would have imagined Deceit using. Then again, he hadn’t exactly ever envisioned him having one at all. If he had made a list of things he thought Deceit did in his spare time, then auditioning for the role of Scar or sneaking about in the background was what he would have expected. Not hosting tea parties complete with tea and biscuits. 

It seemed as though he had been having a party. Celebrating? Oh, Roman hoped he hadn’t been celebrating his victory. Roman had swallowed down a lot of his anger, his hurt and confusion towards the other side, pushing it away in order to focus on what he thought was more important but he really didn’t think he could control himself if he learnt Deceit had been enjoying himself like that. Not when Virgil’s health and happiness could be on the line. 

“Having fun Deceit?” Roman asked, voice deceptively mild. He knew it and even better, he knew that Deceit knew it. The air around them seemed thick with repressed energy, a tension that he could cut with a blade. 

“Not at all Roman, not at all. How can I help you, you know I do adore our little chats. Need something?” Deceit asked, adopting a smooth voice and expression, as though he had felt no embarrassment at being caught in such a moment. 

Now that Roman knew how to look, it was obvious that it was a mask. That Deceit could be as dorky as the rest of them, that he was worried about why Roman had suddenly visited him for the first time ever. By this logic, maybe Deceit wasn’t as dark as he might have thought. Virgil had taught him the value of not judging people by their traits but then again, no matter how badly they had fought, Virgil had never tried to steal his memories, had never attempted to change Roman’s very essessance. Which left Deceit as still very much a question mark in Roman’s mind. 

“Had a guest over, I see. I hope you didn’t... give them anything unpleasant by accident.” Roman smiled as he spoke, fingers lightly tapping against the hilt of his sword. He played out a few beats of one of Thomas’ songs against it, almost as though by accident. 

Deceit’s eyes dropped to the sword for a moment before flickering back up to his face, as if he could try and gauge what Roman was thinking by his expression. 

Normally Roman was a fairly open book. He was a skilled actor but he saw little need in acting in his day to day life. Acting was for the stage, it was for the great and important roles and moments. If he was happy, he sang from the rooftops about how happy he was and if he was sad, he let everything know he was sad - oh, how he let everyone know. Now though, Roman used every skill he had ever learned to keep his expression one of bland calmnesses, with only the fake smile giving away any type of feeling. 

An obviously fake smile, but not too over the top. Just enough for Deceit to know that he wasn’t happy but not giving any further details. Just enough to hopefully make him squirm because Roman was tired of being the one everyone played with. He had been pulled this way and that thanks to Deceit hijacking the story. No more. Roman was the hero and he was going to prove it. 

“A guest?” Deceit repeated slowly, honey almost physically dripping from the words. It was cloyingly sweet and made Roman want to gag. Not his best work because of how fake it was, how obvious he was just trying to buy some time. “Not yet, but I am expecting company so perhaps we could do this another time, hmmm?” 

Roman slowly pulled his sword out of its sheath, still smiling the whole time as it made that delightful rasping sound of metal dancing free. Honestly, his mouth was starting to hurt a little, aching at the corners from holding the expression for as long as he was, but it was worth it. He made sure to keep the expression from going too over the top still, he didn’t want Deceit to think it was goofy. Just unpleasant. 

It was worth the slight ache to see the way Deceit’s eyes widened for just a moment, a blink before the shutters went back down and he hid behind his own lies and denials. Roman still saw that hint of panic, of fear. Hopefully Deceit was starting to realise that he had made a very grave error in thinking he could mess with Roman. Or that he could get away with still messing with Virgil. 

“Uh... Roman?” Deceit questioned, slowly shifting to the side and placing the table between them. “Something... important on your mind friendo?” 

Well, if Deceit wanted to skip any further pleasantries then fine, Roman could do that too. The kaleidoscope of colour and imagery on the walls around him was starting to give him a headache anyway and he wanted to get out of here and back on his original quest. 

“What did you do to Virgil?” Roman took a slow step forward as he spoke, closing some of the distance between them so that really the table was the only thing blocking him. He lifted the sword as he spoke, blade pointed directly at Deceit. It reminded him of his first moments back in the mind without his memories, when he had pulled his sword out and aimed it at the stranger in the room. 

Roman had been so lost there, so scared and afraid. It was nothing to how Virgil must have felt of course to have Roman do that and yet the anxious side had been able to calm him down. Right from the very first moment of realising he had no memories he had clung to Virgil, had made him his rock, his anchor. 

How long ago that seemed now. 

How different this moment was to that one. Deceit still hadn’t told him what he needed to hear and Roman was still no closer to finding his friend. It wasn’t enough and so Roman took a sideways step, starting to move around the table, sword never once wavering. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Deceit replied, moving in time to Roman and making sure that the full length of the table was always between them. 

It would have been funny, if it hadn’t been so ridiculous. 

“Oh you should be afraid you snake. I know it was you, of course. I know what you did to me, and I might have been prepared to forgive and forget... but yet here we are. Virgil is avoiding us all, and I can’t talk to him if I can’t find him.” Roman finally dropped the smile, expression growing hard. “Something tells me you know exactly where he is though.” 

“I don’t think you want to go down this road Roman. You might not like what you find.” 

How dare he. How dare Deceit try and turn the tables like that, make Roman feel, even for a second, that he might be better off not knowing. It was where his powers came from, of course, that desire to lie to yourself. It would make Roman feel better if he could comfort himself with a pretty lie, but it would be wrong. Roman isn’t going to make the same mistake twice and let Deceit distract him. 

“What did you do to him,” Roman snarled. Deceit lifted gloved hands in what was possibly meant to be calming but only served to infuriate Roman further. 

“Nothing.”

“Enough of your lies Deceit. What did he give you? What did you take from him for the price? I swear Deceit, if you’ve hurt him by playing on his loyalty then you will have a lot more to worry about than just my sword.” 

“... you wouldn’t laugh.” 

Roman blinked a few times, his confident exterior slipping a little and Deceit sounded almost... petulant. Like a child that had something embarrassing hidden behind their back that they don’t want to give up because the adult would make fun of them. His sword didn’t waver though, still pointed directly at Deceit. The pair of them had stopped moving, the wooden - and then metal, and then wooden once more - table still firmly between them. 

That wasn’t how he had pictured this conversation going. He looked around the room again, taking in the two tea cups, the two plates, the two anything. Roman had known he had someone here of course but he had assumed it was one of the Dark Sides, that it had been something dark and deep. Deceit still looked embarrassed, actually shifting from foot to foot, one shoe scuffing at the ground in an awkward motion and this wasn’t what he had thought at all. 

“Virgil was just here wasn’t he.”

“He came for tea. As...” Deceit trailed off, mouth puckering into a tight little circle, as if the words were physically painful to say. “As agreed.”

As agreed? Did... surely Deceit didn’t mean that. Surely, with all the power at his fingertips, with all the plans and schemes that were forever running through his mind, he had demanded a higher price than... that? He could have demanded anything and Virgil would have almost certainly given it, he could have made him support him in all his upcoming arguments or simply to not have Virgil appear until directly called so that he could try and influence Thomas better. Although those would have hurt Thomas and he honestly didn’t know what Virgil would have done if he had to choose between the two of them. It was a position he prayed none of them would ever be forced into.

Regardless, that wasn’t what Deceit had asked him. What he had demanded as a price was something on a completely different spectrum to anything as dark and twisted as those thoughts.

“Wait. Are you telling me... that the price Virgil paid for the magic... and your apparent end goal to all of this... was to make him come and visit you to have _tea_?”

Deceit at least, had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed by the words now that Roman had said them out loud. 

“Maybe?” 

Roman lowered his sword a little, gaping at Deceit in sheer disbelief. Out of all the possibilities, all of the maybe realities that had filled his head, it had never been anything remotely like that. Yet somehow... he believed him. The liar was telling the truth. How Roman knew that, he wasn't quite sure, nothing Deceit had done up to this point made him seem trustworthy and really it was one of the more ridiculous things he had said. If anything, it should be the only thing Roman knew was a lie.

Not to mention, he also knew that he had fallen for Deceit's lies time and time again. Roman couldn't seem to help but fall for the lies and tricks, no matter how many times he knew it to be a trap or how often his family warned him against the honey whispers.

Did that mean if he believed him now, he should take it to mean the opposite? Should he call him out on a lie, even though his heart was telling him that as impossible as it might seem, Deceit really had used his power over Virgil to get such a trivial sounding thing.

He would almost say that it implied that Deceit missed Virgil. 

Although Roman guessed it wasn’t an implication at all, but a simple fact. Their relationship - whatever it had been and Roman had never pressed Virgil for any details about his life with the Dark Sides - was clearly more complicated than the angry words and looks they two had exchanged over the course of a couple of videos. 

Roman was beginning to lean back towards the ‘Deceit was a dork’ theory. He had to admit, the lying side didn't look nearly as menacing when he was clutching a bee decorated teapot and looking awkward. 

“Then... if he’s not in danger, and not hurt... why is he hiding from me?” Roman deflated a little as he spoke. He had been so sure that Deceit had done something to Virgil, that it was his fault and his fault alone as to why the anxious side was avoiding them all. 

Well not exactly just his fault. But his fault was enough that Roman could solve most of the problems by stopping Deceit and then things could go back to a better version of how they had been before. In his head, it had been simple, almost like a fairytale come true.

Find the bad guy. Foil his plot. Be instantly forgiven. Happily ever after, no further questions. 

Of course it was never going to be that simple. 

And now, Roman didn’t know what to do next. He didn’t have a plan that wasn’t based on Deceit telling him what he had done so that he could fix it. How could he fix it when whatever ‘it’ was, still seemed so far out of his reach? How could he get back to the friendship he had treasured so much when Virgil wouldn’t even talk to him? Roman was good at talking - he was bad at it too and sometimes made things far worse with everything he had to say but at least he always had a weapon when he had his voice. Virgil still needed to actually be within hearing distance for him to be able to do anything. 

Deceit sighed, a soft, hissing sound between his teeth. 

“Virgil certainly isn’t avoiding you, don’t be foolish. He might be in the Imagination, who could say either way,” Deceit offered, idly examining his gloves. The forced casualness didn’t fool him, just as the pretense at not being scared hadn't fooled him.

Roman didn’t know why Deceit had decided to be helpful now, but he wasn’t going to complain - assuming he could trust anything he said. It also didn’t help him very much. The Imagination was so vast, so wild. Even Roman, who claimed to rule over it, knew that it was larger and wilder than he could ever hope to control. There were still areas that Virgil had dominion over, darker spaces of fear and anxiety, all the creative images that could spring from fears. It was a spooky place and one that he would often struggle to control in the same fashion as the fantasy kingdom he tended to spend his time in. 

Try as he might, Roman had never been able to keep it as a lighter area, it always slowly seeped back into darkness, shadows littering the area, darker creatures filling the forests every time he swept them away. It was a place where Virgil had been able to roam free, where spiders lurked under trees and Halloween decorations stretched from branch to branch. 

When they were growing up, he had been jealous of Virgil’s power, unwilling to share his land with Virgil. Then he had been thankful, pleased that they had something in common. That there might be something he could use to bridge the gap between them and try and find a middle ground. 

Now he was back to almost annoyed. If Virgil was hiding in the Imagination, even in an area that Roman held sway over, he could still hide, he knew how to blend into the background, he knew most of the doorways from one area to another and could lead Roman on a merry old chase if he so chose. 

“You’re going to have to narrow it down Sir Hiss,” Roman replied. Deceit rolled his eyes but obligated. 

“He is where he thinks he belongs.”

Roman frowned, fingers tapping against the hilt of the sword once more, although the motion was less to draw attention to the weapon which hung loosely from his hand and more to give him something to do while his brain considered the puzzle. Where he thought he belonged... but then, this was Deceit and nothing was ever that simple with him. 

“So he’s where he... doesn’t belong?” Which meant, what? Roman’s area? But Virgil belonged there, he always had, even if it had taken them years to realise. Virgil might think he didn’t belong any more, not after what had happened and if that was what Deceit meant then at least that narrowed it slightly but Thomas was so imaginative, so bright, whole new galaxies constantly springing into life around them. He needed more than just that to narrow it down. 

Deceit shook his head 

“I don’t always talk in lies Roman. He’s where he _thinks_ he belongs. You’ve read the books, you know the story. He’s Edmund, you said it yourself, he fears it himself so where do you think he went?” 

Edmund. 

Fears. Why would he fear it? Being Edmund was a great thing! Thomas was Edmund and it had taken most of Roman’s self control not to claim the role himself. He wanted to give that to Virgil, he had wanted to prove that he was willing to take a step to the side for their friendship. Not _everything_ had to be about Roman - just most things. So why would Virgil be afraid that he was the character Edmund? 

Edmund was wonderful. Edmund was one of the heroes, he was a king and who wouldn’t want to be a character that ended up as a king? 

Except Edmund wasn’t a simple character in the story. 

He didn’t have an easy arc like Lucy who had never wavered. Instead, he had struggled, rather like Susan in a later book - but not as bad as Susan, Roman had always felt sorry for Susan, denied her rightful place because she had dared to grow up. Not that Roman was keen on growing up, as far as he was concerned, you lost far too much of yourself if you allowed that to happen. That still didn’t mean Susan deserved what had happened to her, just because she had wanted more in her life. 

Susan wasn’t the point here. Her brother was. Edmund had been considered a traitor almost at one point during the story.

Not almost.

The White Witch had wanted to kill him, had demanded he be handed over for what he had done and made to pay for his crimes. Nobody had been able to deny that Edmund had done the things that he had done, or that he had done them with the intent of betraying his family. He hadn’t been aware of just how high the stakes had gotten, the witch had tricked and beguiled him, but that didn’t change the fact that as far as the law of Narnia was concerned, at that point in time, Edmund had been guilty of treason. 

The whole reason Aslan had been able to come back from the dead was because he had been willing to offer up his lifeblood in place of Edmund, a known traitor. That has washed away Edmunds sins and he had more than redeemed himself by the end of the story and in the following books, but still. For a large portion of the story, Edmund was the misunderstood, not really bad, bad guy. 

Roman didn’t see Virgil that way of course.

But he knew Virgil.

Virgil probably saw Virgil that way.

The revelation felt like a bolt from the blue, striking him across the forehead and how could he have been so foolish? So blind? Of course Virgil would have heard the name and instantly jumped onto the negative parts of the story without once considering the whole picture. He would have grabbed onto that one thought and ran with it, it was just the sort of person he was. And it was Roman’s fault for not realising that sooner, when he knew full well that it was such a strong part of Virgil’s personality. 

Roman should have made more of an effort to try and link Thomas and Edmund in Virgil’s mind, should have made him realise that he had been thinking about the adult Edmund, about the man who was called ‘the just’. You didn’t call a traitor ‘the just’. There were plenty of words that were used to describe a traitor and none of them were anywhere near as good and as noble as that. He had failed Virgil. 

“There you go,” Deceit murmured softly and even now he managed to sound smug, as if he was completely in control of the situation. 

“Don’t think I have forgotten about you,” Roman warned, although his words felt half hearted at best, mind still facing, tumbling over his own thoughts as they raced ever faster through his head. Virgil had thought that... all this time? That Edmund had been a slap in the face, a cruel comment by Roman, a mean joke? He had believed it to be something terrible and yet he still had gone through all of this pain and struggle. Virgil hadn’t given up on Roman, even thought he had thought Roman had given up on him. And now maybe thought Roman hated him twice over. 

No, he couldn’t afford to think about how terrible this could be. There was no point in thinking about any of that sort of stuff, not when he could act. Find Virgil. The end goal hadn’t changed, only the route he needed to take to get there. Find his friend, slay the beast - metaphorically - and make sure all was right in the world. He could deal with whatever demons had been created out of this revelation when he was actually there, facing it. 

“Ok, so he thinks he’s Edmund... so he’s in the Narnia world?” Roman asked softly. 

“Certainly not. Certainly not a specific part,” Deceit explained, finally clicking the whole tea set out of the room. The table briefly shifted into a sofa before reforming into the by now familiar wooden piece of furniture. Those were transparent lies, but it was clear that Deceit just wanted him gone. Maybe even wanted him to find Virgil, he wanted, for whatever reason to help. 

Probably for the same reason he had been willing to do all this just so Virgil would spend time with him. 

It wasn’t Roman’s place to press the issue and demand any sort of answer from him. This was very clearly a personal matter between the two of them and while Roman hated the kind of secrets where he was excluded, he had to accept that this wasn’t for him. And it wasn’t what he was meant to be thinking about, no matter how much the real nature of their relationship was going to eat him up inside at night.

Roman mentally ran through the story in his head, trying to think of any part of the story that was really important to the character Edmund. The sledge? No, they had already used that, there had been a scene there and somehow Roman didn’t think Virgil would go back there. He had to think, he had to try and focus, to ignore the way Deceit was staring intently at him, as if trying to will him into thinking the right thoughts. Why couldn’t Deceit just tell him, if he thought he knew the answer? 

Focus. He had to focus. Roman could do this. He knew this story back to front, it had literally been the main thing he and Thomas had been thinking about for weeks now. 

Traitor. Not the adult, King Edmund the Just, but the child, Edmund the Traitor. That was where Virgil’s mind had leapt, and that was where he seemed to be stuck. 

If Virgil thought he was Edmund because he considered himself a traitor then... Roman’s eyes widened, as a brand new horrible thought occurred to him, words slipping out not as a question but as some dark, resigned thing. 

“The stone table.”


	18. Melting Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman tries his best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are really getting close to the end now. Time for Roman and Virgil to meet for the first time since Roman has gotten his memories back. What could possibly go wrong eh?
> 
> Thank you so much to all the comments and kudos, I love them all. And thank you so much to my beta, Kat, as always for her wonderful comments and help, really, she is wonderful. And this story wouldn’t be nearly as good without her. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### Melting Ice

** **

Spring had come to Narnia.

The snow was melting under foot as Roman moved through the forest, white vanishing almost before his eyes, bright green shoots poking up everywhere as the grass began to renew itself. On the tree branches above, he could see countless leaves unroll themselves as they began to shake themselves into new life. It wouldn't be long before the flowers followed suit and soon enough where once there had been an endless expanse of white, there would be a riot of colour as life did what it did best.

He could hear plenty of signs of animal life as well, birdsong in what had previously been a foreboding silent forest, the merry call of one bird to another. They filled the air as he stumbled through the trees, searching for the edge of the forest. Creatures rustled in the undergrowth all around his feet, the whole area alive with the best that this world had to offer.

It was all very lovely, hopeful, inspiring. Renewal and regrowth, the passing of the seasons and so on and so on. 

It also wasn’t what he had come here to see. Roman didn’t have time to care about the miracle that was happening here, his attention fixed only on finding his way out of the trees and to the windswept barron hilltop that would hold the stone table. Where hopefully, he would find Virgil, and at long last they could talk. Assuming, of course, that he hadn't been an utter fool in allowing himself to trust Deceit. Assuming that the side he literally knew as a liar, was telling the truth.

If he wasn’t, Roman would just have to pay him another visit, one that was far less friendly than the last one.

Until then, he would hold onto the hope that he had been right to trust him and that Virgil would be found at the end of this adventure. As soon as he made it to the hilltop Roman could have summoned one of the talking horses to aid him, he could have ridden the length of the imaginary world as fast as he could in order to reach the stone table and finally confront Virgil. He could have used that time to talk to them, thank them or try and work out if Deceit had changed anything else in the world, if there were any further surprises lurking in wait for him. 

There wasn’t time for that. He had no desire to talk to anyone else, to cover another few pages of the story in a journey, not right now at least. He needed to simply find Virgil. Nothing else came close to mattering but finding Virgil. 

Trees thinned in front of him, the thick trunks growing steadily less in number until he could see the fields. Spring was doing its job here too. The grass was already thick, while dozens and dozens of daisies were blooming over the carpet area in front of him, brilliant flecs of a warm white that was so different from the snow. It was a thing of beauty and Roman barely noticed it, his gaze lifted higher. 

In the far distance, he could make out a series of hills rising up in the air, lining the horizon. The one near the middle of his point of view was taller than the rest, a couple of jagged black lines pointing up into the sky from it. The silhouettes of the stones. Even if Roman called a horse now, it would still take him hours to travel that distance and that wouldn’t do. 

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, evenly. Mentally, he reached out across the Imagination, letting himself stretch out, feeling all the invisible little points where he had sown this world together. They all responded, snapping to attention at his whims and humming with gentle energy. He could distort the reality of this world with all these threads wrapped around his fingers, he could change whatever he wanted to. Right now, what Roman wanted was to get from point A to B in the least possible time. 

It was cheating but by this stage Roman no longer cared. They had been fighting for so long now, they had struggled against the odds and waded through so much trouble, it was beyond time that they finally got their happy ending. Or a happy pause at least, and Roman knew that sooner or later another dramatic event would pop up, another dilemma for them to face. Hopefully they would be able to face it as a family once more, they could be a united front and guide Thomas through whatever life had to throw at him this time. 

But that was in the future. That was a problem for another day and just because Roman knew another day would come, that didn’t mean he had to spend all his time worrying about it. Instead, it meant they had to enjoy the quiet moments. Like right now. Roman was going to enjoy this moment - or maybe the moment after it, when Virgil had completely forgiven him and everything was good again. Everything would be good again. It had to be. He pulled on some of the invisible threads in his mind, weaving a new pattern in the fabric of this world, a simple little symbol just for a moment, just to get what he needed. 

He stepped from forest to hill in a single bound, the edges of reality shimmering and creasing slightly as Roman simply moved from one area to another. Just for an instant, for that moment between breaths, the whole world seemed to fold in on itself, so that in that single second of time, there really was nothing between the two points, as if the two important landmarks simply bumped up next to each other.

Roman took another step, feeling the world exhale and stretch back out around him, the knotted pattern slipping loose as the world reverted to how it had been before. Fields of daisies returned to the land between them, animals and birds repeated exactly where they had last been, flying as though nothing had even happened. Just a little hiccup in the world and everything was as it should be once more. 

His legs felt wobbly for a moment, a little waver as he sought to find his balance all over again. The sensation would pass soon enough, once the rest of him caught up with the fact that he had managed to move miles in a split second. 

Large, upright pillars lined the top of the hill, a stone circle that looked as though it had been there for hundreds of years. They were worn with age, one or two crumbling away, bones of fingers clawing sightlessly towards the pale blue sky, bleached almost white by the endless winter sun. In the middle rested an enormous flat stone, polished to a near gleam, supported by four square, short stones, each bearing an equal weight. 

It was a powerful place and a powerful sight, but Roman’s attention wasn’t on the stone circle but at the other person within it. There, with his back to him, hood pulled up as he stared out over the sprawling landscape was a very familiar figure. 

Virgil.

Roman had done it at last. He found him and now they could finally talk. It was fitting, perhaps, that it should be here, that they should talk around this table when so many other stories had been told here too. Perhaps not stories they had ever actually taken part in, but the history of this world was carved into these stones. They remembered things that had never happened. They would remember this too. 

He was going to have to be very careful, was going to have to approach this with skill and guile. Just rushing in was not the way to do it and he forced himself to keep breathing evenly, to actually take in the surrounding area just in case. Roman frowned a little as he stared at the stone table, for a moment focused on that and not the purple clad figure perched on the edge of it. 

It was still intact. 

One giant slab of stone, impossibly large. It was a stunning piece of craftsmanship but it shouldn’t be here in this state. They had reached the end of the story. The White Wizard had been defeated, peace had been made, spring had returned to the previously ice clad land. The happy ending of the story was all but dancing across the world with every passing moment. 

The stone should be cracked in half, broken under the weight of a good deed.

Even though Roman didn’t consider Virgil a traitor, he still sacrificed himself for the greater good. Virgil had risked and given up everything he cared for another. He had done the right thing and that should have been enough for the story which was still playing out for them. The stone needed to crack for the story to end, things had to slip into their predestined place. The stone should have cracked, Roman had expected it to crack and he was in charge once more, his energy and power filled this world. 

Unless Virgil didn’t consider it a worthy enough sacrifice and his guilt was overwhelming the story, fusing together what was meant to be made in two. It had to be a truly powerful guilt to be that strong but if anyone could feel self hate that strongly, it would be Virgil.

Roman couldn’t take the silence any longer, the horrible thoughts that were running through his mind, dozens of little rats in mazes, each clawing at themselves as they tried to find a way out. 

“Virgil?” Roman called softly and Virgil had to know he was there, he had to have heard him coming. If not the little pop as he appeared out of thin air in a manner akin to a Dark Side, then surely the sound of his breathing would have tipped him off. It was hard to sneak up on the literal embodiment of anxiety. 

The other man jumped, flinching as he slipped off the table to spin around to look at him. Brown eyes were wide and for one grain of sand slipping through the hourglass, his expression was unguarded, everything Virgil was feeling burning in his eyes. They stared across the stone table at each other. Roman felt as though the very air had been stolen from his lungs as he looked into Virgil’s eyes, taking in the pain and agony that was reflected there. Roman had been right - the guilt was so strong here, strong enough he could almost reach out and touch it in the air around them. There was an ocean of regret in Virgil’s gaze, a pain that seemed to sink deeper and deeper, the longer Roman looked. 

Okay, maybe he hadn’t known Roman was there. But he knew now. No going back.

With a brisk shake of his head, Virgil let some of his hair fall back over his face from where the air had brushed them aside. The bangs returned to their accustomed place, strands covering and protecting his eyes slightly, dark locks obscuring them. Despite that, Roman could still see far more than Virgil no doubt wanted him to. 

Virgil looked away first. His hood was still pulled up over his head, fingers lifting to nervously play with the string as if he wanted to just tug on them until his whole face vanished within the darkness of the hood. 

“Hey Princey,” Virgil rasped, voice sounding almost painful, as if he had been crying or screaming recently and Roman really didn’t want to know which. 

“Virge...”

Now they were standing there, Roman felt almost lost for words. And Roman _never_ felt lost for words. 

He had practised of course. He had rehearsed all manner of things to say to Virgil. He had considered how best to appeal to his sense of loyalty, how to beg him to still be friends. How to prove that he had forgiven Virgil in turn, that really he didn’t think there was anything to forgive him for. How to thank him for being the better, stronger, man and doing what needed to be done. Virgil had saved him and Roman needed to show just how grateful he was for that. 

All the grand plans, all the great declarations, the gestures Roman had spent so much time practising, they all crowded up in his mind, each wanting to be said over the other until it was impossible for him to actually focus on any one of them. He wanted to say so much and yet now he couldn’t seem to say a thing, whispers of thank you, forgive me, of how awesome you are and how lucky I am, swirling around and around in his mind like water circling a drain. Except there was no handy hole at the bottom for his thoughts to slip out of, no safety valve for them to move through.

None of those came out of his mouth. Instead, what he said was far simpler, two words that echoed from his heart. 

“I’m sorry.”

Virgil looked back up at him, expression guarded, wary. Something seemed to flicker in his brown eyes, a hint of an emotion that fled before Roman could get a proper read on it. He lifted a thumb, biting at the nail for a second before swallowing, expression shifting into something that was very obviously, deliberately blank. 

“Why would you be sorry?”

“I could make a list,” Roman replied, still fighting to keep his voice even. The urge to shout, to beg and plead and go to any length in order to make sure Virgil listened and understood was still burning brightly in his mind, a flickering flame that refused to go out. He wanted to climb onto the table and scream at the top of his lungs so that every animal in this world would hear what he had to say, so that everyone would know just how much he cared. Roman wanted to break into song and dance, a musical number to show his extreme emotions, something completely awesome.

All the sort of dramatic behaviour that Virgil hated in fact. 

This was meant to be about Virgil, for Virgil. The least he could do was have this conversation on his terms and try and do it in a way that made him feel more comfortable. He had to reach out in a way that Virgil would hopefully understand and accept. Virgil deserved nothing less.

“Let’s start with the big one. I’m sorry I asked you not to do it.” 

Neither of them needed to mention exactly what it was, they both knew, the memory of that moment hanging over them like those dark storm clouds that Virgil had adopted as a personal symbol. Roman still shuddered to remember how he had behaved, how ghastly he had been to Virgil, and all for nothing. No, worse than nothing. Virgil gave a one shoulder shrug in response, still trying to appear dismissive, uncaring. 

He wasn’t nearly as good a liar as Deceit. 

It was almost laughably easy to tell how badly he did care, how the expression of relief was growing more and more obvious by the moment even as Virgil fought to keep it under control. Roman was glad that Virgil wasn’t a good liar, that he was honest even when he tried not to be. There was some merit in his old theory that Virgil was a side representing Honesty. He couldn’t bend the truth as well as any of the others and yet when it came down to it, his true thoughts would always shine through. 

“I mean it Virgil,” Roman insisted, when it became obvious that the other side wasn’t going to say anything further and he couldn’t just leave it at that. He had to keep trying, had to make Virgil see how truly sorry he was. “You saved me and I should never have tried to use what we have against you.” 

“You were just doing what you thought you had to. I’m sorry too, that I didn’t listen. It should have been your choice but because you made the one that I personally thought was wrong, I just... ignored you. I’m sorry for that.” Virgil replied and no, that wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want or need an apology back and he certainly didn’t want his actions justified. What he had done in that moment had been wrong, pure and simple. It didn’t matter what Virgil had been trying to do, he still struck a low and terrible blow when he shouldn’t have. 

“You did the right thing. I was so wrapped up in the idea of heroes and villains. I guess at my core I’m not so different after all without my memories. I still see things in black and white, whereas you see all the grey in between. I saw myself as the villain and I couldn’t understand why you wanted to bring back someone who had been so horrible to you for so long. Someone who hadn’t behaved like a Prince and never gave you the chance you deserved.” Roman paused for a moment to catch his breath, the words almost falling over themselves in their haste to be said. He had no idea how long he had, how much Virgil would listen to and he couldn’t afford to waste a single second. 

“I...” Virgil trailed off, a conflicted expression on his face. His hands were no longer playing with the strings of his hood. Instead, Virgil shoved them in the pockets of his hoodie as if forcing them to be still. That had to be an improvement right? Virgil was no longer bursting with restless energy that had no proper outlet. His hood was still up however and Roman wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. 

“I didn’t exactly behave like I deserved a chance Ro, you know that. You remember that now,” Virgil told him softly, a resigned tone to his voice. As if he believed he deserved all those years of semi-isolation. No, this wasn’t going well. 

“I still should have given you one. We were kids, that doesn’t mean I should have decided you were dark and be done with it. Nothing you did ever warranted the way I treated you. I remember that. I guess... some part of me still doesn’t understand? Why you picked... me... over him?” Even as Roman said the words, he knew he hadn’t expressed himself clearly, that he hadn’t said exactly what he meant. Just like Patton had once said, words were tough. It would be easier if Virgil could just see inside his mind, see all the emotions and floating thoughts and understand them all. Maybe even translate them for Roman himself, because he certainly didn’t get everything inside his own head.

“You think I would have just left you like that?” Virgil looked horrified by his own words, an expression of heartbreak on his features and no, no, that was not the reaction that he had wanted. 

Roman was making a complete mess of this.

“No, I just meant... we were horrible to each other as kids sometimes. And then as adults. I guess what I meant was... if it was the other way around and I had the chance to skip all that pain and just have my friend without any other complications... I’m not sure I would have been as strong as you. As brave as you,” Roman admitted, voice dropping to a near whisper as he finished. 

It was a shameful thing to admit, but he had made up his mind to be truthful, to lay all his cards on the table. Virgil deserved to know everything, the good and the bad, and that included his own darker thoughts. Would he have thrown the memory orb? Roman liked to _think_ so, wanted to hope so. But he didn’t know for sure, he couldn’t know for sure. The thought of being able to save Virgil from the pain of the past was a tempting one, Roman couldn’t lie about that.

As well as not having the guilt which always simmered in his mind whenever he looked at the anxious side and thought about all the time they had wasted. All the bad choices Roman had made which had caused Virgil to be isolated. Or the ones Virgil had made himself, which had also led to him being alone and miserable. They had both made bad choices. 

It would have been far too easy to decide that Virgil would have been better off ‘reset’ so to speak but it wouldn’t have been the right choice. And that wouldn’t have been his choice to make - just as it had been Roman’s choice to keep his memories. He could have eaten the Jelly again if he had wanted to, could have wiped himself clean out of choice, and Virgil had given him the ability to do that. Roman didn’t want to, and he was pretty sure that Virgil would have done the same thing. He had to remind himself of that. It wasn’t up to him to play God like that, to decide what Virgil did and didn’t remember. Roman was still just glad he had never been placed in that situation, that he had never needed to do the right thing. 

“It wasn’t bravery,” Virgil replied with a brisk shake of his head, refusing to accept the compliment. “Stubbornness maybe? Stupidity? I was so scared...”

“And you did it anyway. That’s bravery to me Virgil. Even when I was an absolute monster and threatened to destroy our friendship. I should never have done such a thing.”

“It’s **fine** Roman,” Virgil insisted, in a voice that Roman could clearly tell meant it wasn’t fine. It couldn’t be just fine, just like that. 

Some deflections Roman could accept. Some excuses for his own behaviour because he wanted to think he hadn’t been all bad. That moment was not one of them. That was not a moment he could let slip by without any further comment. Virgil needed to know how badly Roman regretted saying what he had, as well as what had compelled him to threaten that in the first place. 

“No, it was cruel and wrong of me Virgil. I tried to use our friendship against you, that isn’t something that can just be waved away with a ‘it’s fine’. It deserves a proper explanation for why I behaved like such a beast. Even without my memories, even when I was doing my best to be what I thought was a better version of myself, I still... sunk to such terrible depths. I just. I...” Roman swallowed heavily and it was harder than he expected, to explain himself. 

It meant cracking his own heart open and laying everything on the line, knowing full well that Virgil could still reject it all. He would be well within his rights too, there was no hard guarantee that he would accept it. Roman could be brave though, he had to be brave because the potential reward was more than worth it. 

“Why did you use that threat?” Virgil asked after a moment. He kicked at the ground with the tip of his shoe, tiny flecks of dirt flying up into the air around them. “Was it just because.. I dunno, you knew how pathetic I was? How needy?” 

“No!” Roman took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. This was far more painful than even he had ever imagined. No less than he deserved of course, but it still hurt to think that Virgil thought of himself in such terms. That he thought that _Roman_ thought of Virgil in those terms. 

“I said it because it was the worst thing I could think of that could happen to us both. I... you were the most important thing in my life Virgil, you were my rock without my memories. You were my hero. I was ashamed of who I had been, and I thought I could do better, for myself, for Thomas and for you.” He wasn’t really sure if this was making any of it better, but it was all he had left to offer, his honesty. Roman could remember his thought process, as clear as day, he could remember how sure he had felt that this was the right thing to do, that rejecting his past was the obvious answer. 

“Oh...” Virgil didn’t seem upset at least, a more thoughtful expression on his features as they stood there, eyebrows pulled into a faint frown. 

“And you still mean the world to me. You’re still my hero,” Roman added firmly, the thought belatedly occurring to him.

“Wha... oh come on Roman, you don’t need to say that kinda stuff now.” Virgil’s cheeks were undeniably red now, the blush obvious even though the pale foundation he liked to cake on. Roman couldn’t help but wonder if the reason he put it on was to try and avoid situations like this, to keep his edgy reputation. To pretend that he didn’t care. After all, it was Virgil that had refused to say ‘I love you’, that had instead insisted it should be ‘an understood’ thing - and he had said that long before he had been accepted, before they had realised just how important he was and how much they cared. Virgil had cared, right from the start. 

Virgil could try and deny his feelings on the outside all he liked. He could pretend he was cool and emo with nothing else going on if he wanted but it was far too late for that to be believable. Roman had seen him horse riding, he had seen him laughing around a campfire and most importantly he had seen him going full feral and claiming victory in a snowball fight by any means possible. There was so much more to Virgil than the disinterested edgey persona he tried to show to the world. Virgil might have wanted to try and scare them for his own reasons, or because he felt like he had no other choice but that didn’t change who else he had been. 

More shame on Roman for being fooled by it for all these years. 

“I mean it,” Roman said firmly, moving around the table as he spoke. His eyes never left Virgil’s face, the other side seemingly frozen in place. It gave Roman courage, knowing that Virgil wasn’t moving, that he was letting Roman get closer. He was allowing him to bridge that gap between them at last. 

At least it wasn’t a repeat of the fiasco with Deceit. 

Disbelief was still evident in Virgil's expression, warring with hope, as if he couldn’t quite allow himself to feel either fully but was unwilling to settle on one emotion or the other. It was better than Roman could have dared hope, especially after he had explained his feelings so poorly at the start. It was something to work with, something to work _on_ and that was the important thing. That was what Roman had to focus on, doing his best to make sure his expression remained open and warm, that there was nothing in it that would make Virgil panic. 

Roman didn’t say another word until he was in front of him. Slowly, he reached out, hands finding Virgil’s own and drawing them out of his pockets.There was no force to his movements, no pressure as he slipped his hands into the anxious side’s own, Roman giving him every opportunity to pull away if he wanted to. Virgil made no attempt to move, simply stood there, eyes wide. Roman’s fingers entwined with Virgil’s, idly noticing how pale and cool they were in comparison to his own, more tanned ones. The subtle differences between them all never failed to fascinate him. 

This wasn’t the first time he had held Virgil’s hand but it was by far the most important one. He had screamed the last time they had held hands - so had Virgil, but that was beside the point. What mattered was now. Smiling at Virgil and holding his hands _now_. Roman took a deep breath and spoke from the heart. 

“You’re my best friend. I can think of no worse punishment than being denied your company Virgil. From being denied your conversation. Even when you are the gloomy one, you’re still my best friend. There is no shame in that. Please... please forgive me and stop hiding? If you want to. I miss our evening chats, I miss our arguments over the dinner table, I even miss you insulting me and pointing out all the flaws in my latest idea because once I remove those flaws I always have something that is so much better than the previous effort. You make not only me, but _everything_ better, just by being there. Come home?” 

There it was. 

His heart laid bare with his innermost thoughts offered up on a silver platter to Virgil. Roman trusted him though, trusted that he wasn’t going to get a stab in the heart as a result. No matter what happened, he knew better than to think that Virgil would ever be mean for the sake of being mean. All those times he had been cruel, had scared them, it had been because Virgil was scared himself, or because he felt it was the only way he could be listened to. That didn’t make it right, what he had done, but it did explain it a little bit at least. And here, there was no need for him to do any of those things. Even if he refused to come back home, Roman knew he wouldn’t be needlessly cruel about it. It would hurt beyond all measure, but he wouldn’t be mean.

Roman had to believe that.


	19. King Edmund the Just

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An overdue conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So very close to the end here! I can’t believe we’re so close now! Just one more chapter after this one. But first, its time for Roman and Virgil to finally have that talk.
> 
> This chapter is - in theory - full of softness and talking and healthy communication and all the good soft stuff that these boys deserve after the angst I’ve thrown at them over the rest of the story. 
> 
> Thank you as always to my most amazing beta and I cannot stress enough how much I love Kat and how wonderful they have been with this story. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come say hi @theeternalspace

** **

### King Edmund the Just

** **

The very world seemed to be holding its breath. Or maybe that was just Roman, being overly dramatic again.

He was still holding Virgil’s hands, fingers still curled around the cooler, paler digits. Roman couldn’t quite bring himself to look at the other side in the eye, opting instead to gaze at their interconnected fingers and the contrast they presented. 

“I saved you because of this.”

Virgil’s words were soft but sure of themselves, a confidence that was normally so sadly lacking in his words. It was enough to make Roman lift his head to stare at him. Virgil stared steadily back, a small, barely there smile lurking on his lips. Just for a moment at least, there was that smile, a hint of one before he was speaking once more. 

“Because you’re _good_ Roman. You always have been.” Virgil’s voice was intent, honest, a blistering honesty that Roman couldn’t deny, no matter how much he wanted to. 

He couldn’t understand how Virgil could say such a thing after everything he had done over the years. Roman wanted to be good, he so badly wanted to be the Prince, not only of the mind, or for Thomas, but the Prince for everyone. He wanted to be noble and courageous and every dramatic trait that he associated with heroes of old. 

It was hard to think he was that good at times. Hard to maintain the mask of perfection he worked so hard on. Yet Virgil, the one he had wronged perhaps more than anyone, seemed to honestly believe it. The denials and protestations died in his throat. Now it was Roman’s turn to stand in stunned silence, his eyes wide in shock and awe. They stung a little, tears gathering in the corners but it was the good type of tears, because he felt impossibly happy. 

“I knew you were worth it. You’re a good side and maybe you don’t always come across in the best possible light but then neither do I. Everyone falls, Roman. Everyone.” 

When had the roles become reversed? When had Virgil managed to flip the script to effortlessly? Roman was supposed to be the one comforting him, making everything better, and yet here they were with him clinging to the anxious side and letting him make it all better. Virgil was being the protector again. Was being the hero again. Roman hadn’t been joking when he had called Virgil his hero - and he didn’t use that word lightly. 

Hero was the greatest title he could think to bestow on anyone. Virgil had more than earned it. It hadn’t been easy and it hadn’t been quick but Roman couldn’t imagine a world now where Virgil wasn’t his hero. He couldn’t imagine a world without Virgil in it period, couldn’t imagine going through the rest of his existence without his company. Roman didn’t want to have to get through another minute with things being how they had been these last few days. 

He hadn’t even realised how much he had come to rely on Virgil until that steady support was gone. Roman wasn’t sure when they had managed to slip so casually from enemies to friends that supported each other completely. It was after the Hogwarts video but there didn’t seem to be a defining moment in his head, nothing that signified the change. It had been far more gradual than that with Virgil slowly sneaking into his life more and more until Roman felt incomplete without him. 

“I fall with style though,” Roman offered, trying to make a joke and some days it felt as if he did nothing but fall. 

“You do,” Virgil readily agreed, not at all put off by his words, another flash of a brilliant smile before his expression turned serious once more. “But you get back up and that is what matters. You never stop fighting, doing what you think is right. That is what counts Roman, that is what I see when I look at you. Not the person I fought with when we were younger, but the Prince that just wants his family safe and happy. The side that will do anything to make sure Thomas is achieving his goals, that he is happy. You’re awesome Ro, and I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.” 

Roman moved forward at those words, hands slipping from holding Virgil’s own to wrap around his back. He wasn’t thinking about anything other than the sheer rush he felt at knowing that Virgil felt like that too, that he hadn’t been alone in his thinking. Virgil wanted to be his friend still and nothing could compare to that. Admittedly, there had been a lot of moments recently where ‘nothing could compare’ but that was only because he was so very lucky in his family and friends and the way in which they were supporting him. 

In his embrace, Virgil froze for a long, awful second. Long enough for Roman to regret making the choice. Long enough for him to realise that he hadn’t actually asked permission before going in for the hug and he should have asked. He should have made sure that Virgil was okay with it. Consent was important, and touching without permission, without warning was one of the worst things you could do to someone with anxiety. Roman _knew_ this and he still let his passions get the better of him. He thought with his heart and not his head. That was just what had gotten them into this mess in the first place and had he learnt nothing? 

Roman had messed up, he had ruined eve-

Then Virgil exhaled with a long shuddering noise as he sunk into the hug. His arms lifted to press strongly around Roman’s back in turn, clinging on for dear life. Roman could feel his fingers bunching up in his tunic as he clung to him. Virgil was... Virgil was hugging him back.

Oh wow. 

He was hugging him _back_. Forget Virgil calling him his friend, this was the moment where nothing could compare because Virgil was actually showing affection and willingly hugging him. He was so close that Roman could feel him breathing, choppy, awkward breaths that were too long one moment and then too short the next. He might have been worried except Virgil’s fingers had relaxed slightly. Not enough to imply he wanted to let go or anything, but just a fraction to make Roman feel that he was settling into the hug and had no plans to move anytime soon. 

All he had to do now was solve the breathing, somehow calm Virgil down without stopping the hug. Roman certainly wasn’t going to be the one who ended it first, his whole body was screaming for more of this, more contact, more heat bleeding into each other until it felt as if he would be perfectly happy to stand here for the rest of time and just hold Virgil. Just, so long as he could get him calmer. Roman closed his eyes, just breathing in the scent of the world around them, the flowers which were winding their way around some of the pillars, fragrant notes of freshness. 

He held the air in his lungs for a second and then breathed out through his nose, keeping the movement steady. Another moment and back in through his mouth. Over and over. He felt as patient as the rocks themselves, as if he would stand here and let the world pass them by without complaining, for as long as it took until they were both settled. 

Roman didn’t say a word, didn’t draw attention to the fact that he was doing this. He knew enough to know that Virgil was probably feeling self conscious enough about it as it was. The last thing he needed was thinking Roman was pitying him, even if that wasn’t the case. How could Roman pity him when he thought he was the bravest side in the whole mind? 

Moment by moment, Virgil started to copy his breathing, mirroring the deep, even breaths. 

Until Roman was no longer breathing to try and calm Virgil down, but simply breathing himself, the two of them in perfect sync to each other. This was the best hug Roman thought he had ever had. And if either of their hairs got a little wet from falling tears then neither mentioned it. They were both as bad as each other in this moment after all. And after everything they had been through, Roman felt as if they deserved a little cry, a little come down from all the pent up emotions. 

It was impossible to measure time and know how long they had been standing there. It could have been hours and he wouldn’t have known. Roman didn’t want to end the hug, but at the same time, he still had things to say. They had come so far already, but it wasn’t enough. Roman knew that Virgil wasn’t keen on confrontation, on talking about feelings. Neither was Roman, because it just opened up too many avenues which could lead to getting hurt. It was better they did it all in one go though, got through all the pain now rather than having to keep coming back and back to the issue like a series of scabs to be picked at. Roman wanted them to be able to start fresh, to move on. They couldn’t with the clouds that were still lingering over the pair of them. 

A lot had been cleared away, but more still remained. Another battle to fight and wasn’t there always another battle? Just like Virgil had said, he kept getting back up no matter how many times the world knocked him down. If his friend believed that, then Roman couldn’t fail him now. He couldn’t ignore those clouds because they would just grow bigger and bigger until they were back out here and it was another frantic battle just to be heard. 

He would pick up his metaphorical sword in a moment, he would charge back into the battle in just a second. First though, first he had to savour one more thing. 

“Thank you Virge,” Roman whispered into Virgil’s hair, wishing he could say or do something larger, more dramatic. Something like lighting the world with fireworks so that Virgil could see how much he was loved with every splash of colour. Or letting a band spring into existence, playing one of his favorite songs, a concert just for the two of them. Something that was creative, like his role implied. He was meant to be the one who did that sort of thing. 

“Cool,” Virgil whispered back, and it might have only been one word but it was filled with so much emotion, so much power that Roman forgot to breathe for a long second. He felt as if he was floating in the air, as if all those birds he had heard in the woods were suddenly bursting out into synchronised singing. The hills were alive with the sound of music. 

Maybe he didn’t need to be over the top dramatic to prove his point. 

Maybe this actually was perfect after all. 

Just the two of them, hugging beside a sacrifice table. Not that it mattered. They could have been hugging anywhere and it wouldn’t have mattered, all that would have mattered would have been the fact that they were embracing at all. 

What mattered was that they had found their way back to each other, that despite the mistakes that were made along the road, they had still reached this point and that was incredible. That was more than Roman had dared to hope when he had passed through the Wardrobe on his way to find him. 

Virgil sniffed, pulling back slightly, breaking the hold. Roman let him go without any fuss or protest, watching as the darker side took a step backwards and wrapped his arms around himself. Roman couldn’t help but feel a little cold now, his body begging him to close that gap once more and draw Virgil into another hug. He had a feeling that the anxious side wouldn’t actually protest. A series of hugs wouldn’t solve everything but it would be really pretty good. Still, there were other things to talk about. 

“Did... did Deceit really make you go to tea with him? That was seriously his price?” Roman asked and as much as he didn’t want to bring up the other side he had to know for sure that was what had happened. He had to know if Deceit had been telling the truth or not. For his own sanity, he had to know that Virgil wasn’t hurting because of any deal he had made on Roman’s behalf. 

Roman still wasn’t really sure how he felt about Deceit. He had been the cause of this whole thing, he had stolen his memories and if it hadn’t been for Virgil, Roman doubted Deceit would have chosen to give them back out of the kindness of his heart. Yet he wasn’t sure if the actions had actually been malicious or not, if Deceit had really meant to cause all the trouble that had arisen out of it. 

Before all of this, he would have said yes, absolutely. Before he had seen the tea set or the expression on Deceit’s face as if Roman had honestly stumbled upon something very private and personal. It made him wonder just what went on in those corners of Thomas’ mind and perhaps if the Dark Sides, as he called them, were perhaps not so very different after all. 

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted with a small cough. “I think... well, we used to be close. Very close, he was like my brother before, um, before things changed. I think he kinda missed that?” 

Roman didn’t quite understand what Deceit missing Virgil had to do with the deceitful side messing with his memories. His motives seemed as opaque as ever and while his end goal had been to apparently get himself back in Virgil’s life by whatever means, he didn’t quite get the thought process that led to that. How could Deceit have known things would have turned out this way?

Not to mention he shouldn’t have brought up this subject. It had been a mistake, one that Roman was only too willing to admit to. Virgil no longer looked happy, all that hard earned relaxation vanishing and leaving him standing there with his shoulders almost up to his ears. He was hunched up and stiff, expression closed off once more. Roman should have just gone with his gut instinct and pulled him into another hug like he had wanted. 

“No, I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to Virgil. I know your past is uncomfortable for you to talk about and I shouldn’t have asked. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and I guess I wanted to ease my own conscience as well. I didn’t want you to hurt anymore because of me. I’ve hurt you far more than I ever wanted to.”

“Nah, it’s fine Roman,” Virgil insisted, uncurling an arm enough to lift it into the air and give a little dismissive wave. “It is good to talk about it. I should have done years ago. Deceit and I, didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. It was more... explosive than that. I think he had my best interests at heart. Maybe? But it was all rather a mess and then we avoided each other for years after. I think he was desperate, which is no excuse of course.” 

“No, it’s not,” Roman agreed and maybe he wasn’t furious with Deceit, not really. That certainly didn’t mean he was fine with what had happened though. Deceit had hurt him, perhaps more than he had intended but intent doesn’t always translate into reality. Or so Logan said. It had still hurt and at some point when he wasn’t so busy with fixing his relationship with Virgil, he might look into that. 

Virgil nodded seriously, all traces of playfulness vanishing from him.

“I think I need to talk to him again too. Clear up a couple of things. This was all my fault, I’m just sorry he used you to get to me. I should have known that he would try something stupid and just cause mayhem along the way. I just never expected anything like this.” 

“What was he after? I mean, really? How could messing with my mind help him get you back?” 

Virgil exhaled heavily, giving another shrug and it was unfair, Roman knew, to ask him those questions. It wasn’t Virgil’s responsibility to pick apart how Deceit’s mind worked and translate it for him. It certainly wasn’t his fault, and he shouldn’t be digging around to try and make sense of this. Deceit operated to his own rules, his own music, just like they all did. It would be equally unfair for Virgil to expect Roman to translate say Logan’s thought process. Only the side themselves could explain what they were really thinking or what they had hoped to achieve. 

To expect otherwise, was the way that madness laid surely. 

“He wanted to... he said he wanted to make things better for me, he wanted to give the two of us a second chance by taking your memories away. I don’t think he intended it to end the way it did, I think he was just trying to make things work, like he could just put the clock back and nobody would notice. I’m so sorry Roman. In his own weird, warped way I think he thought he was actually helping. That’s what he said anyway and maybe I’m mad but I believed him. I don’t know what I did or said to make him think that I would welcome that.” 

Virgil was sounding increasingly distressed as he spoke, causing Roman’s heart to clench tightly together in sympathy. He took that single step towards Virgil but instead of drawing him into the hug that he so badly wanted to do, Roman simply let his hands rest on his shoulders. He needed Virgil to hear this, not to be distracted by a hug. 

“Hey, none of that. You’re not Deceit’s keeper. You’re not responsible for anything he does, he is a big boy and he makes his own choices. Okay?” Roman said and he was going to have to talk to Deceit too, once things had calmed down. Explain exactly why what he had done was not okay and make sure he didn’t have any other tricks like that up his sleeve. Perhaps Roman could appeal to his wants, to the fact that he seemed to honestly want Virgil happy and this latest stunt had done the opposite of that. 

All that was much later in the future. 

Virgil didn’t look convinced but he nodded anyway. It was a start and something that Roman would take for now. He wasn’t running away from him or rejecting him after all. And that was the important thing. That was the start of something, a true foundation to build upon. 

“Yeah, sure... wanna go back? I bet Patton is missing us,” Virgil offered shyly, timidly. As if he somehow expected Roman to turn on him and suddenly announce that he had changed his mind and didn’t want anything to do with him. 

“Of course my dear emo!” Roman announced, allowing a hint of dramatics to sweep back into his voice. The eye roll he got from Virgil was more than worth it and Roman beamed brightly. He offered an arm to Virgil, intending to walk back down the hill arm in arm. They could cheat once they got to the bottom if they wanted but right now Roman was looking forward to just spending a little bit of time with Virgil. He couldn’t remember - no joke intended - the last time they had simply existed in the same space without some drama happening at the same time, be it Roman without his memories of the high emotions which had charged this whole conversation. It would be nice, for the want of a better word, to just be in his friends company and enjoy the walk.

Even Roman could find pleasure in the quieter moments of life now and then. 

Virgil gave a snort and another eye roll but he took the offered arm nevertheless, linking his own with him. The sight made Roman smile happily, his previous depression feelings easily swept away by the tide of joy that came with the now. It was much more pleasant to live in the now. 

“This place doesn’t look half bad without the snow,” Virgil commented idly, glancing around as he did, the pair of them taking the first step towards the winding path that snaked out from under a pair of the larger stones and curled down the hill. Roman followed his gaze, staring out over the fields and trees below them. In the far distance he could make out the now ruined remains of a castle that had quite literally melted from the sun. It was a potent symbol of how things had changed within Narnia after they had technically defeated the White Wizard. Almost as potent as the stone table itself... the... intact stone table and there was something important about that. Something Roman was supposed to be doing or saying. 

Roman paused, hand lifting to smack himself on the forehead and he had almost forgotten! It was important and he had nearly let a whole topic of conversation slip past them. They were literally standing in Narnia and he had forgotten to talk about the world, about the thing which had kicked this whole event off. Virgil twisted a little to look at him, a worried expression on his face. 

“Dude, you... good?” Virgil asked carefully, pulling his arm out from Roman’s own. That hurt as well, knowing that Virgil was withdrawing himself a little, physically and mentally, just in case something bad was going to happen. 

This painful conversation wasn’t over yet. 

“I just realised I’d forgotten to apologise! I’m sorry about Edmund too, that I didn’t explain what I really meant. I’ve not been very good at that lately have I? Actually using my words to tell you what I’m thinking. I just seem to kind of expect you to know all the gaps I didn’t say.” 

“What is there to explain? I’ve read the books, Roman, it’s fine.” Virgil’s smile was warmer than the last time he had said that dreaded word and tried to fob him off with the claims of being fine. It still wasn’t enough though, not by far. Not when there was a slightly haunted look in Virgil’s eyes, one that hurt even more now that they had hugged and forgave each other. 

Virgil shouldn’t forgive him. Not yet. Not until he knew _everything_. 

“No, it's really not!” Roman burst out, unable to contain himself any longer and he had pressed down on those feelings for too long. He shrunk back down a second later, a guilty expression crossed his features and he quickly forgot his own rules, his own plans. He was so close to ruining this by being too over the top and Virgil had already been far more forgiving than he had ever dared hope. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. Another thing to add to the list.” Roman exhaled softly, fingers lifting to rub at his temples for a moment as he tried to marshal his thoughts once more. This was important, this had to be perfect. A performance of a lifetime. 

“I wanted you to be Edmund because Thomas is Edmund and I wanted... I wanted to let you play Thomas’ role. The most important role as far as I was concerned and I wanted you to have it. You, Virgil.”

“Oh...” Virgil trailed off, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. Roman waited a few moments but it didn’t seem as though Virgil was going to say anything else, the emo staring over his shoulder, jaw working as though he was searching for the right words to say but failing miserably. 

That was fine. This was just talking, this was more offering up his own heart. It had worked the last time and there was no reason why it wouldn’t work this time too. Virgil responded best to honesty and that was something Roman could give him. He just had to explain his own jumbled thought process and why he had done what he had done. Why it had mattered in almost literally the opposite way to how Virgil had thought. 

“It’s stupid of me, I should have known better but I didn’t even _think_ of this part of his story until just now, I didn’t stop to even consider how you would react to me asking you to play him. All I was thinking about was Thomas and I was going to be Edmund because he was. But then I thought it might be fun to go on an adventure together and it seemed only right I let you be him, that you get to take Thomas’ role for once. After all, you help him with his acting just as much as I do. I just get all the credit and that didn’t seem very fair anymore.” 

“Really? You meant it like... that?” Virgil gave a small snort of laughter, eyes angled down to stare at his shoes for another few long, agonizing moments. Long enough for Roman to wonder if that laughter had been something bitter, something hurt. Maybe he had been wrong and there was no right, no good way to play Edmund. Maybe the character was linked with betrayal to such a degree in Virgil’s head that he couldn’t actually separate him back. 

“I mean it,” Roman whispered intently and he wished there was a way for Virgil to see inside of his head, to know just how badly Roman meant what he said and how much he regretted confusing him like that. Being Edmund was supposed to be his way of showing to Virgil that he was truly accepted by the creative side, that he was his brother in arms so to speak. That he loved Virgil as a true and treasured member of his family and never wanted that to change. 

When Virgil looked back up, there was an honest smile on his face, Roman feeling the weight instantly rise off his shoulders. It almost made him feel a little lightheaded, giddy and he didn’t need Virgil to speak to know that things were going to be alright after all. That being thought, it certainly didn’t hurt to hear the words right out of Virgil’s mouth and be reassured just that tiny bit extra. 

“Well, I feel like a fool,” Virgil admitted. “You’re right, I saw it as... you thinking the worst of me. But really, it was me thinking the worst of us both.” 

“Not a fool,” Roman told him seriously, offering his warmest smile at him. “Just you. Of course you would see that, just as I would only see the fact it was Thomas’ role and nothing else. You are built to be on guard for things like that. My fault for not explaining myself better, your fault for not explaining what you felt... let’s just call it even, hey?”

“I could live with that,” Virgil agreed. He reached out before Roman had a chance to, linking his arm back with Roman’s own. Roman’s smile, somehow, managed to grow, his heart all but bursting out of his chest in delight. “Home?”

“Home.” 

They managed a few steps this time, crossing the top of the hill and reaching the stone circle before a tremendous crack and groan suddenly echoed around the clearing, the pair of them jumping at the sound. As one, they turned, looking behind them and back to the flat stone table which dominated the space within. 

It lay in two, a jagged line splitting it in half as though it had been hit by a powerful bolt of lightning. The center was slightly black, singed a little, a few wisps of smoke rising from the ruins of what had once been a corrupted symbol of the Wizard’s power. It was a dramatic break but then Roman would expect nothing less. All of them were dramatic in their own way, of course Virgil would be no different. 

“Well... how about that,” Roman muttered, hand lifting to idly brush his hair back from his face. 

“Wha- what was that?” Virgil sounded a little freaked out by the sight, eyes darting this way and that, trying to find the source of the damage. It seemed as though he didn’t even realise what he had done. Maybe all it had taken was Virgil accepting that he wasn’t a bad guy all over again. There was symbolism here, Roman was sure of that, but he was getting tired. 

It had been a long and exhausting day, and all Roman wanted to do was go back to the main part of the mind and collapse on the couch with Virgil, Patton and Logan. Maybe watch a couple of movies and fall asleep together. That sounded like heaven right about now. Virgil still looked undeniably freaked out by the destroyed table though, and Roman had to say something, forcing his tired brain to try and work one last time. 

“The world catching up with the story. You did it Virge. You broke the table and you stopped the Wizard. You deserve the role of Edmund. Edmund the _Just_.” He stressed, and Roman at least learnt from his mistakes. 

“Maybe I do. High King Peter. Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen, am I right? Let’s go back to the real world. I don’t need to mope here anymore.” 

This time, when the pair set off, there were no sudden realizations, no noises or changes to reality that delayed them. Nothing to stop a pair of friends walking arm in arm down the hill and back towards home.


End file.
